


Of all the places, of all the people.

by AuthorInDistress



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Forced Prostitution, Graphic, Human Experimentation, Loki has a heart, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape, Rape/Non-con References, Tony Stark Angst, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorInDistress/pseuds/AuthorInDistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wandering around Midgard, having escaped from Asgard over three years ago, Loki finds Tony Stark after all this time.</p><p>And he really doesn't like what he sees ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This little thing came to me last night and I usually ignore ideas like this but my fingers started writing and here we are D:

.

Three years in a cell. 

Three years and Odin has not even cared to notice his disappearance for even one of those. How typical. 

Loki ducks past a brawl in an alley, meandering through the crowded streets of Midgard's modern-day Egypt. Staying on Midgard has been a choice that he'd forced himself to make under pressure, knowing that living in any other realm will only result in him being caught all over again. 

Living _as_ a Midgardian, however, has been the hardest part really, but he's grown accustomed to it after all this time; knowing full well that deciding to do otherwise will, again, simply draw attention to him. Unwanted attention.

He turns into another alley.

Egypt is one of the only countries in Midgard that he hates with a passion. He despises most of them, of course he does, he hates the entire realm, but with this country and it's _mortals_ \- he shoves past a foul-smelling elderly lady - they utterly disgust him. 

Especially their men. Groping, greedy and rude creatures. The amount of times that he's had to create something with magic just to traumatize one, building it until they fled from whoever it was they were harassing. 

It's not that he wants to protect those women that he ends up helping. He simply cannot stand it when men behave that way. His brother being one, once upon a time. 

But. Attempting to live in another place, in New York, or any other country, would again, only draw more attention to him. And so, here, amongst the fumes and the crowds, the heat and the blood-sucking insects, he is simply another foreigner and no Avenger of Shield agent can find him. Especially since he has long ago stolen enough egyptian clothes from a washing line to disguise himself enough; regularly dousing them with water to rid the smell of car exhaust and raw meat. 

And, as he can speak, read and understand whatever language these people try to throw at him, he has been capable enough in this country to try to live in it.

Also, he has money. Money that he can create for himself now, as Odin's cell only blocked his magic when he was actually within it, so out and free, he can do as he pleases. Unless, what he pleases will effectively reveal himself to Odin again.

Not that he will notice him, anyhow. If he had already, then Loki would be in a cell again, and not wandering through the yellow streets of a Midgardian land, pockets pull of notes and coins and food.

Loki has money, yes, but what he does not have, is something to do with his time - living on Midgard is his escape from punishment, yes, but it isn't much of a life for him. So. With the pretense of giving payment for it, he always tends to ask for entertainment wherever he goes; growing steadily more bored and frustrated with each circus, picture stand and dark room that he is sent to. 

However, a few days ago, when a dark-skinned veteran had pointed him in the direction of a discrete whorehouse, he'd only raised an eyebrow in response to the thought and had ignored the advice, and yet, after only two days of thinking about it, he finds himself migrating toward it anyway and the next thing he knows is that he's standing in the poorly lit reception room where a broken fan teeters above him.

What has his life come to. He could be out there, allying himself with enemies to the Avengers, having his revenge on them as brutally and as bloodily as he wished to. But he has seen the 'villains' of this world, has seen them defeated and captured. He'll not do something now, not when it will only increase his punishment further.

He isn't greeted for a while as he stands there, looking about. There are pictures on the walls, portraits of naked women and men, sexual positions and a price list. He skims his eyes over it, barely even vaguely interested, and is almost about to traipse up the steps that he can see himself, before there's finally a knock at the door to the side. He stares it and, when no one answers it, it opens itself slowly and a lighter-skinned man - lighter than the man that led Loki here, and much lighter than any other man that lives here - steps out from the red-lit room behind him. 

"Frederick?" He asks Loki, holding a small stick of white cloth between two fingers, blowing out smoke from his mouth when he sucks at it, "Are you ... Frederick?" From the accent in his voice, Loki can be certain that he is speaking a different language to the other mortals that live here, but that doesn't matter. He'll understand any.

"Yes," He lies, nodding slowly at the man, until he's acknowledged back with a smile and a gesture that he follow. He raises his eyebrows but does so, walking up the creaking staircase dubiously; wandering just what in the nine realms he was even doing in a place like this. 

This isn't him. This is Fandral. Or Thor. Loki is more the type to see something beautiful and seduce it then and there into his bed, not to pay for the company of someone that may not even be as appealing to him as it might to Egyptian men.

"I saved what you requested," The man assures Loki as they walk up the steps. Loki pretends to be interested. Or, actually, should he be pretending to be grateful, instead? He schools his face until it's blank to hide any sort of expression instead then, looking around at the pictures that are still littered everywhere rather than the mortal before him, "But you were meant to be here yesterday so I cannot promise if it is not being used right now."

 _It_. Hm. Loki nods, as though understanding the feeble attempt at excuses, and wonders whether his charade will shred for him any second now. He doesn't know how well this man knows this ... Frederick. And he would really rather not have any other men after him today. He has around three gangs shooting at him with their guns whenever they see him already, he doesn't need more enemies.

Especially not now that Odin has taken the strength of the apples away, when he was fed them. He still has his magic and his strength, but other than that, he's as mortal as the idiot walking in front of him is.

They step down a corridor now, where there are several windows open but the heat is still stifling and almost unbearable. Doors are shut down here, but not locked, and flimsy, colored curtains flutter in a breeze that doesn't exist. 

And. Up here. The only sound apparent to him, are the moans behind the walls of the corridor, changing with regard to just how much pleasure is happening within them. Loki rolls his tongue behind his teeth, knowing now that this Frederick had reserved a whore for himself, a whore that Loki is being led to no doubt. Perhaps 'it's' the most desired here. 

Wouldn't that be something, he scoffs to himself. 

The man leading Loki around stops outside one of the last doors to the corridor, nodding at it and knocking once; orange paint is peeling away over it, the sound of casual conversation and a bed creaking behind it, and there's an actual lock fixed on it's handle. Loki looks at it curiously, blinking slowly, until it's turned and he's gestured to step inside.

"Abasi!" Is the greeting the idiot gets, and Loki steps to one side while the two men shake hands, his eyes roaming over the room while they laugh together. It's small. Smaller that he'd assumed a room for something like this would be. 

There's a group of men in the corner by an open window, and they're all turned and smiling in the direction of 'Abasi' and his friend. There are cards in their hands, chips and money. Playing games. Is this the entertainment in a whorehouse on Midgard, then.

Loki scoffs again, turning his gaze away, flicking it over to the bed on the other side, and - 

And promptly freezing in place. 

Oh.

On the bed. On the bed by the wall. Covered in perspiration. Lying curled on his side, half-draped with a colored strip of cloth though otherwise naked and shaking with clenched fists, is Tony Stark. 

IronMan. Avenger. Defeater of Loki and remembered as such simply for his utter disrespect of him. 

There is another man behind him, holding him in place, fisting his hands into short hair. _Thrusting_ into him. Stark doesn't speak, doesn't scream or shout as Loki would assume him to. His eyes are half shut and he barely moans loud enough to be heard. His hands are clutching at the sheets weakly and his skin is flushed from either the heat or from his humiliation.

Loki finds that he can't look away. 

"As promised," Abasi says in his ear, grinning and clapping Loki on the shoulder, "He is drugged, as you know, and will remain so while you have him." Drugged? Oh. Poisoned. Addled. Not quite conscious enough to understand what's going on, but conscious enough to be heard when they have him. 

"Are," Loki clears his throat, "Are all of your whores drugged?" The word rolls off of his tongue in a strange manner but he hides it well enough, watching as Stark is turned over slowly, limp in the other man's arms, and thrusted into faster; jolting backward with each, helpless under the onslaught.

Abasi laughs, "No, no. Our whores know their job, they know what it is they should do for our customers." 

Loki's jaw slowly clenches. Stark turns his face to one side, moaning weakly, his eyelids fluttering when he's spat at to open them, "And does Sta - does _this_ one not, then?" Abasi gives him a look. A look that reads something that Loki's so used to seeing on Thor's face when they were so much younger, the 'you-know-nothing-about-anything-do-you-brother look. 

It makes him want to wring someone's neck. And Abasi is awfully close right now.

"Sudi," Loki turns away when another man is called, watching as the others continue with their game. Continue playing just beside the bed. The bed where Stark is now being spread further, held open for someone else's use as the other man gets off of the bed and swaps with another; pliant and softly crying into the pillows, while others sit around doing nothing.

Sit around _waiting their turn_. Loki doesn't know when his blood had first started to boil, but now? It's risen to it's peak. 

"Sudi," Abasi says again, taking a step forward and bending to throw a sock at the man now on the bed with Stark," Get out of him, he is booked." Booked. Get _out of him_. Loki lifts his chin, preparing to leave the room. He doesn't think he can stay here any longer, "Sudi - "

"I heard you, let me finish." The man by the name of Sudi continues with Stark, getting faster until his smaller and unwilling partner cries out now, biting down on a finger; closing his eyes, "The American is not going anywhere, is it." It. Again, 'it'.

Abasi rolls his eyes, giving Sudi's back a look before turning back to Loki, "Apologies my friend, he will - "

"I am not your friend." Loki murmurs darkly, his eyes still fixed to the bed.

"Ah." Abasi looks a little lost, and some of the men at the table laugh at him, shrugging, "Sorry. But - "

"The American," He says then, adopting their way of speaking and narrowing his eyes at the way Stark continues to be heard moaning over their conversation, at the way they all sit through this as though it's a common thing. Common for there to be several in the room, sitting around as though there was nothing wrong with this, "What is he good for?"

Abasi smiles at him then, bright and full of yellowing teeth, "What is he _not_ good for?" He asks in return, before changing track when Loki's expectant look starts him, "He is our only kept. The other whores are for any man we have here, but Stark is kept apart. Only the rich, or my workers here, can have him. And ... _for_ him, we have, uh," He raises a finger - 'one moment' - heading over toward a box beside the card table. 

Loki stares after him. Stark. He'd called him Stark. So they knew who he was then and still called him 'it'. Perhaps he should have fully tried to take over this realm. If this was how they treated each other. 

"Here." Abasi carries the box back, opening it to reveal an assortment of clubs, black paddles, whips, poker sticks, artificial cocks and so on. Loki takes the box from him.

The room is suddenly hot. Too hot for Loki to stay, and the fan in the corner does nothing much to help.

"No other whore has this bonus," Abasi continues, "He is our best offer. And your payment, sir, your payment has allowed you a full day with him. And, believe me, you will not be dissatisfied." Loki hums, his hands tight around the box. 

The man on the bed groans, has 'finished' now, and he slides off of it. Stark's legs are still spread, one held up and bent whilst the other is laid out over the side of the bed. Abasi approaches him now and Loki follows, setting the box down by his feet when the both of them stand over Stark. Tower over him, intimidating, keeping him in place no doubt. 

"Hey," Abasi snaps his fingers in Stark's face, tapping his cheek until he opens his eyes, "Wake up now, get up." Stark's apparently too tired to even open his eyes after what has happened to him. Abasi gives Loki an apologetic look, as though it's Stark's fault he cannot even rouse himself after an ordeal like that, "Wake up, get up you stupid little whore, you're needed today," Stark's lips are shaking and he tries to turn away, but Abasi lifts his face with a grip on his chin, squishing his cheeks together painfully. Stark's eyes flash open now in fear, but they're still glazed, unfocused, and they only widen even more when he's slapped hard.

Loki blinks, watching as he rolls off of the bed from the force of it, before being lifted back up and dumped on his stomach. Like he isn't even a person. He keens under his breath, his eyes open now and staring at Abasi obediently while he hunches his shoulders and curls into himself. 

_Would you like a drink, I'm having one._

What have they done to him.

"Are you awake now?" Abasi asks Stark, condescending and sweet, like Stark is a child, slow and moronic, "Are you ready to work for me?" Stark doesn't answer. He seems to be struggling for breath, "Oi." Abasi hits him again and this time, he cries out, whimpering and shaking his head in a plea for it to stop, "Are. You ready. To work for me?" Loki swallows when Stark shuts his eyes, sucking in a breath and nodding slowly. Abasi straightens, satisfied, "Good. Meet your customer. He paid a lot of money for you, so you treat him well." 

Stark opens his eyes again, slowly, weakly, easing his head around to look at him. Loki wonders then, briefly, if that's recognition that he sees in those eyes, but then. Then Stark turns fully over, his fingers caught in cloth and material and his voice barely an echo of how it used to be, "How - " He winces, red lines forming over his throat from where someone must have strangled him. He whispers now, trying hard to speak past the pain, "How do you ... want me ... ?"

No.

Loki doesn't move. He doesn't breathe. The blood in him that had boiled since stepping inside here now runs a deep cold and he can't look away from the tears in Stark's eyes, can't look away from those bruises and marks.

Abasi laughs, "There he is ready," He slaps a hand on Loki's shoulder, gesturing to a small table beside the bed where a syringe lies, "He may struggle at some point, and if so there is another dose of the drug that you can - "

Loki's hand is around his throat before he can even finish that sentence. At first, no one notices, or they just assume that Loki's shut Abasi up with another of his looks, but when one of them does look up the effect is instantaneous. 

There's a series of clatters and thuds as cards fall from the table and all the men jump to their feet. A gun is revealed and shot at him. Loki turns it to ash with a blink.

"Shit - !" Loki drops Abasi, avoiding the knife that's flung at him easily and summoning enough magic to burn a hole through the table. 

They all freeze, staring in horror at him whilst he just builds another blast at their feet, making them shout out in terror.

"What - what are you?" One of the men murmurs, wide-eyed and completely spooked now.

Loki smiles as angrily as he can at them, snarling, "Get out." They scramble for the door without a second glance. Sudi, the last to have Stark, is also the last stumbling out. Loki shoves him to the floor, reprimanding him as condescendingly as Abasi was to Stark. "No, no. Not. _You_." Abasi tries to crawl away when Loki turns from him but with a wave, Loki has the door locked and barred. 

"I - " Sudi whimpers over the ground. Just like Stark had, when - Loki's expression darkens and he steps toward him, "No! No, this is not my work, this is not my place! This is Abasi's! He hires the men to get the women, he does the - " Loki lifts him without even touching him. The spell he casts is wordless and Sudi doesn't even scream. How could he? Blood in the mouth has always been useful in muffling sounds. Especially ones of distress.

Dropping him, Loki turns to Abasi, seeing him sitting by the door, curled up with his hands pressed to his face; staring at the dead body of his friend. Loki regards him coolly, turning toward the box he'd set down before and looking over it curiously. Abasi doesn't seem to be breathing, with how scared he is.

Good.

Loki hums quietly, giving the pretense of deciding what to choose, though he knows already. The whip is in his hand before he's even bent and he lifts Abasi up the same as he'd lifted Sudi, ignoring his pleads and cries, speaking over them with a growl, "Did you know - ?" He spits, shaking the man roughly when he doesn't shut up, "Did you know, you _pathetic_ mongrel? Did you know that on my homeland. On Asgard. I instigated the rape of several women in a village," Abasi chokes when Loki moves his grip from his arm to his throat, pinning him to the wall, "I watched it all happen - all of it - the beatings, the ripping of their clothes, the forcing of them to - " He presses his lips together, "And to this day, it has ... haunted me," He laughs bitterly, "Isn't that strange."

Abasi gapes like a fish, his eyes popping out as he struggles to breathe.

"Strange that I can kill so easily. I can torture, I can take another's thoughts, turn them into another person, control them, defeat them, _hurt_ them," He slams Abasi against the wall again, "And yet, this is the one thing that I cannot _stand_." He grits his teeth, leaning closer, "And you. You have just gotten past all of my limits, my _friend_." He pauses, looking at him, "Why am I talking with you? You should already be dead."

Shoving the handle of the whip into Abasi's mouth, Loki glares into his eyes as he burns the rope; smoldering the inside of the man's mouth. He lets him slide to the floor, choking, gagging, melting. His tongue drips out, his cheeks on fire, holes forming out of his skin. 

Loki leaves him there. Lets him scream.

Stark still lies on the bed; his eyes shut, but he's now breathing more slowly and calmly. His hand is no longer fisted by his mouth but on the table now, and the bruises on his skin clear against the white of the sheets. Or. The parts of the sheets that are white, as the rest take on a browning color. Softly touching his neck, Loki feels a pulse beating, though it's faint now and Stark doesn't move at the touch. 

Sighing, Loki bends to lift him up, tilting him backward when Stark's head lolls off of his bicep, holding him closer as he just lies there; limp. His hand opens when Loki shifts and the syringe falls out of it, rolling under the bed.

The drug. The other dose. Oh for - 

Loki stares, his throat tightening, and he tightens his grip, transporting the both of them as far as he can. 

He lands them an alley, somewhere where he doesn't care to even know, and he lays Stark out on the ground carefully, removing his jacket and placing it around the naked man, before lifting him up again and kicking open the door to the nearest house he sees. 

It doesn't take long to terrify it's inhabitants away and then Loki's pulling back the sheets of a much cleaner bed and placing Stark under them. He sits then, sighing and running his fingers through his hair. Stark's pulse is still weak and he knows that that drug has it's limits, that if Loki had been this Frederick and had given Stark the dose himself if or when he'd struggled, then he'd have been making love to a corpse by the end of the day. 

And from how pliant and unfocused, Stark had been, no one would have likely noticed until they tried to wake him. The idea makes him sick.

He rolls his sleeves back, placing a hand on Stark's cold forehead, watching as he flinches in his sleep, and he slowly drags the poison out of his veins; remembering the spell easily with how often he's had to do this to himself on more than one occasion. It exhausts him though, but he doesn't stop, doesn't want to think he'd did all this for nothing if Stark dies on him. 

Tried to kill himself, he knows, recalling the syringe falling out of the man's hand to roll under the bed back in that room. He'd seen the opportunity, must have known what it would have done, he's smart. Drugged, lost and broken, but smart. Loki looks down at him. Is he that far gone?

Stark moans softly, turning away when Loki finally leans back. He sits there, watching him carefully, before standing and heading over to the bathroom. He's become used to using the 'showers' here, though he still prefers to bathe, but not everyone on Midgard has both it seems so he makes do. 

While he cleans himself, he clenches a fist, trying to work out just what he thinks he's doing here. Again, this isn't him. He isn't a saviour, nor a protector. And Stark is an enemy, Stark should be dead by his hand now for what he's done to him, Stark should be - Stark would never have left him like that, were the tables turned. Loki sighs, pressing his forehead to the cool wall and letting water drip down his bare back.

\------

It's halfway through the second day when Stark finally shows some movement. Loki has gotten food since then, has sent police off in another direction and has cloaked the room to stop others finding them. He eats while he watches Stark, making another plate when it looks like the mortal's about to wake.

He returns in time to see him slowly open his eyes, frowning and placing a hand to his matted hair. Stark stretches over the bed, hissing behind his teeth at the ache he must have in his head, and growing rigid when he looks up a ceiling he doesn't recognize. 

Loki watches. Stark swallows.

He's breathing slowly, and his fingers fumble around his wrists as though expecting there to be rope binding him, but when he turns his head to the side to see Loki, he almost stops breathing entirely. 

Loki raises his eyebrows, not actually sure what he should say now that the time has come, "Stark." He greets, as blandly as he can. Taking the drug away must have given Stark back his focus and his strength, because the next flurry of movement is the opposite to how Loki had seen Stark act in the whorehouse. 

"No - " Loki watches as he struggles to untangle himself from the sheets, wide-eyed and whimpering, "No, no!" - but when he grabs the knife from the fruit bowl that Loki's been eating from, he knows he should try to stop him.

"Stark - " He's hit in the face. And it actually hurts. He doesn't bother cursing his mortal body as he usually would, and instead tries to grab Stark's flailing arms, "Stark. Stark listen to me - "

"No! No, no not you, not _you_!" Loki's chest tightens and he manages to grab both of Stark's wrists when they slam into his chest, pinning them to the pillows. Stark bucks then, his legs pushing against Loki as he tries to keep him still, "No, please, please! Don't!"

"Stark, I am not - "

" _Please_!" Stark sobs now, his head thrashing from side to side and he's shaking again, "I -"

"Stark, for - " Loki presses his body over his legs, keeping them down, bringing his face down until he's hovering over Stark's, "Stop." Stark stares up at him, breathing hitched and fast, "I am not going to - "

Stark struggles again, pressing against him, "Please - Get off me, I can't - "

"Stark, stop this, Stark - " He grunts when a more sensitive area in his body is assaulted then, "Stark I am trying to HELP YOU!" He doesn't mean to shout but as it does actually shut Stark _up_ , he supposes that perhaps he ought to have done so first.

Stark's presses his lips together, his chest twitching and barely rising while he sucks in breath after breath; hyperventilating. 

Loki looks down at him, breathing just as heavily, "Now calm yourself," He orders him, "And _give_ me that." He wrestles the knife away, flinging it across the room when the fear in Stark's eyes only blossoms out when he turns out to be the one holding it now, "And eat something." He snaps, turning away and standing up, "Or, if you can walk, there is a room there where you can clean yourself." He doesn't look back as Stark's breathing eventually slows again, or as the sheets rustle as he shifts over it, "And, to let you know, if you wish to leave, Stark, you can. In fact, I'd rather you do."

He walks out of the room without a backward glance, pausing only once in the doorway when Stark finally speaks again, soft and quiet, nothing like Loki has ever heard him sound like before, "Wait."

Loki looks over his shoulder at him. Stark's shoulders are hunched and he's biting his lip, squinting past his headache and flushing with the knowledge of knowing just what Loki has seen from him. He expects a threat, a beg for Loki to not treat him as he's been treated for however long, a cry for release or an insult. But instead, he gets a whispered, "Thank you."

Loki wants to ask him what's happened here, how he came to be in this country, what those men have done, where his team is now. But instead - 

"Eat the food." Loki returns, turning away again and shutting the door. Outside the room, he shuts his eyes and leans against the wood, sighing bitterly at how soft he's acting. Haunting, that time on Asgard may have been, but he should be having his revenge on Stark, not coddling him. 

And yet. Whenever he thinks of it, of slicing the man's throat, all he can see are the tears on Stark's face, the bruises, the bite marks, those objects in that box and the table full of drinks and cards. And he can hear everything as well. The screams, cries, moans and begs.

_How do you ... want me ... ?_

He pushes off the door and walks out of the house. Not caring where he's going, but knowing he has to think. 

And, if his magic leads him toward the whorehouse, well. He doesn't stop it.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've no doubt there will be questions about this fic, but there will be explanations in the next part. If you don't like how I've portrayed Loki, that's fair enough :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _thousand_ apologies, really! There's several reasons for this, I promise.
> 
> The first two reasons this kept 'updating' was because I was saving my draft and for some reason AO3 accepted that as an update when it wasn't. When people commented on this, I realized what was happening, and stopped saving drafts there. 
> 
> The third time was a complete accident and I'm so sorry D: 
> 
> During a brief fight with family, I was angry and deleted the chapter I'd written of this fic when growing frustrated with editing the newest one. I immediately regretted it and reposted the chapter, and of course, it took it to be an update which probably confused you all, so I'm so so sorry!! It also deleted all those lovely comments, so I apologize for that too!
> 
> And adding onto that, I'm terribly sorry this has taken so long, I've been having a really bad time of it right now. But hopefully you'll all like this chapter.

.

It's almost an hour before Loki eventually leaves the whorehouse smoldering behind him. 

The fires that he'd started now crackle toward any other houses around here and send any bystanders screaming and running whilst the naked women that he'd let leave first, scramble to cover themselves or to hide from him. 

He'd first held the 'customers' and those men that were responsible back, sending any whores - voluntary, or as forced as Stark had been - out through the doors before freezing the men in place and leaving them there. Setting anything and everything in that building alight. 

The cries of burning and dying men follow him as he walks away, and he has to strive to remind himself about just why he is doing things like this to others again. Death by fire is one of the most painful deaths known to him, and it is exactly the same death that he'd given to those Asgardians that he'd ordered to abuse those women back on Asgard. He sighs, hunching his shoulders in on himself, looking down. 

Seeing the shadow to the left is his seconds worth of warning, and he turns, tearing away the wooden plank from one of the women when she tries to fling it at him, shoving her to the ground before she can try to attack him again, though choosing not to kill her. His death count has already gone too far above it's limit in his anger and if Odin has not yet seen him already, then he will have by now.

So much for keeping safe and hidden on Midgard. He scoffs, baring his teeth at the woman until she flees at the glint in his eyes.

He takes himself back to the house that he'd left Stark in, pausing to try and remember which of them it'd been that he'd kicked the door open to, and going around the back first - just to check. If Stark had taken his advice and had left, then there would be nothing more for Loki to do than to simply leave this place and to hope that no Asgardian guards - or even, his darling big _brother_ \- are sent after him. 

The room is as undisturbed as it had been when he'd first lain Stark down in the bed, but that said bed is empty now. 

As is the room. 

The plate of food, however, is as full as Loki had left it as and he sighs, about to eat it himself just to remind himself of the effort that he'd gone through to get it when  - 

There's a muffled sound in the room beside this one and he pauses, listening out. The sound continues and, now that he recognizes it, he lays the plate back down and sinks onto the bed with an exhausted sigh. 

The shower continues to run, water splashing and tapping over the tiles in the bathroom, and Loki taps a hand over his knee; waiting as patiently as he can make himself act as. 

It would seem then, that Stark has not left. Yet. 

He'd likely wished to clean himself first, but _why_ it had taken him so long to reach that decision Loki doesn't know, nor does he care but the shower is running and the food has not been eaten and Stark must clearly not know where to go or what to do with himself other than the basic needs. And so Loki waits. 

He continues to sit on the bed while he does so, wondering idly why he's even bothering, and he shakes the ashes from his hair with one hand; grimacing when they settle on his legs and clump under his fingernails. 

At this rate, he'll need a shower himself as well. 

Sitting around, however, waiting for Stark to finish in there, becomes more than a little boring after a while and, again, he wonders just why he even _is_ waiting. Stark is safe now. The men responsible are either dead or dying and Loki's anger over this all is barely a simmering hum now, rather than an unquenchable throb inside him. 

But still. He waits. He waits; as though seeing this all through to the end will take back everything that he did to those women and how - 

There's a dull thud in the bathroom. 

Barely audible, muffled through the wall and hardly going to gain any attention from anyone else, but Loki's on his feet before he's even registered himself moving. He doesn't call out before reaching for the handle, but he does pause, looking carefully at the door to try and see whether he should even open it or not. The one side of him that tells him that yes, he should open it, wins, and the handle is clicking down the next moment and he's slowly stepping inside. 

Stark is sitting on the floor of the shower. His hair is soaked, pressed flat to his head and his cheeks, and his knees are drawn up, his chin tucked just behind them while his hands hug his calfs. 

A position that Loki was once familiar with himself. The position of one trying their hardest to make themselves smaller. To hide from everyone. 

Stark doesn't look up when the door opens. Doesn't react at all to Loki standing there over him. 

Loki doesn't move himself, not for a while, but eventually he slowly turns a little and shuts the door after him; still standing in the room and watching as Stark mentally breaks before him, on the floor of a shower. 

Water drips in the silence, thunderingly loud when usually it would be nothing but background noise, and still, the both of them avoid addressing this situation. Stark hunches over further when Loki clears his throat. 

"Have I been mistaken, then?" Loki asks with a sigh, refusing to think about how heavy his chest - _~~heart~~_ \- feels at this, and he slides the shower's glass door open as he speaks, "Is this, then, how one showers? And have I been making a fool of myself by standing up all this time, instead?" 

There's a pause. And then. 

Stark smiles, just slightly, tiny and nothing like the usual smirks that Loki remembers, against his knees, "No," He murmurs, "I'm just stupid." Loki doesn't respond to that and instead reaches just past the stream of water to turn it off. He's still being soft, softer than he ever thought he could be, but - how can he not be, with Stark like this? 

Stark still stares down, his eyes fixed on the drain and despite having smiled just a little, his face is now completely blank. The blood and dirt from his body has been washed away but he still looks pale and thin, underfed and petrified. 

When the room gradually begins to take a chill, and when Stark begins to shake from it, Loki bends without a word and reaches for him. After a backward flinch that causes him to hit the wall of the shower and hiss out in pain, Stark stares up at him, as though only really noticing his presence now. 

Loki doesn't move. He stares back at Stark, keeping his face as calm as possible, before reaching an arm across toward him again, "Your lips are turning blue." He informs him and, though that's probably only one of his lies-mixed-with-truth, Stark runs a finger over his bottom lip before casting his eyes over Loki's outstretched hand. And again, wordlessly, Loki leans forward and slides an arm, instead of a hand, around Stark's shoulders; pulling him up to stand. 

Stark's legs buckle under him immediately, his feet slipping over the floor and he's completely unable to support his own weight without Loki's help. 

Eventually, Loki grows frustrated with his falling and his slipping, and simply lifts him out of the cubicle by cradling him in his arms, sitting him over the lidded toilet seat and throwing a towel at him before a protest at being treated like a child can ring out.

Stark flinches again, more bodily this time, and his hands touch the material like he can't even remember what it is, before lowering his head to slide the towel over it; drying himself in silence. 

His discomfort at being naked, however, begins to show when Loki doesn't immediately leave and he wraps the towel around himself whilst his hair still drips down his face and neck; shivering and wrapping his arms around any skin still left bare. He doesn't quite clear his throat, but the point is obvious. 

Loki still doesn't move though, feeling a little lost himself really because: Well, now what? What does one do once you've done all the "saving" part of helping someone? _Was_ there anything left to do? 

Stark looks up at him after another one of their long pauses, his lips pressed together, his hair slightly curled from the water - longer than Loki remembers but only by an inch or so - sending droplets falling down his bare chest. The glowing light in it, once blue he remembers, now shines black. Covered up by some kind of paste, likely to hide it's nature from the men that had come to - 

"Um." Loki blinks, lifting his own gaze to meet Stark's, "Did you ... did you kill them?" Loki hesitates, breathing in slowly and leaning against the door behind him. 

After a rather pregnant pause, he rolls his tongue over his teeth and nods honestly. Stark lowers his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip, "Good," It's said so quietly, Loki's sure he misheard. 

"Can you walk?" He asks him, just to fill the silence before it gets any more suffocating. 

Stark doesn't lift his head but his sarcasm is clear from his tone, "How do you think I got in here in the first place?" Loki runs a hand through his hair, wincing when more ash flutters down. Stark freezes, staring at it as it floats in his view, before snapping his head up, "You _burned_ them?" 

Loki blinks again, "No." It's so transparent a lie, that he doesn't even bother to try and continue on with it, and just takes Stark by the arm, pulling him off of the seat and shoving him out the door. Stark stumbles, his hands holding tight onto the towel though it slips anyway when Loki tugs at it, moving it aside to lift him into his arms once more when Stark's knees buckle again. 

Curling a hand into Loki's shirt, Stark squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away, "Why are you helping me?" He asks. Wetly. Tiredly. And honestly, Loki's more surprised that it's taken him this long to ask, than at the fact that Stark is willingly crying in his presence, no longer unfocused from any drug. He doesn't answer at first, unsure of what to say himself anyway, because he doesn't really know the answer at all, but he eventually settles on another question of his own to hide his unusual uncertainty, "Why did Odin spare the Jotun - Laufey - all those years ago?" 

Stark peers up at him with a strange look, the smallest indent forming between his eyebrows, but he says slowly, as though both humoring Loki and being genuinely curious, "I don't know. Why did Odin spare the Jotun - Laufey?" 

Loki drops him as gently as he can over the bed, letting him cover himself up with the blankets without help, "To show that even a monster can be merciful, at times." He feels, rather than sees, Stark's look as he walks toward the only cupboard in the room to avoid his stare. It was clear that he was also talking of himself and at that brutal honesty, he'd rather keep a distance.

"And is he?" Loki's hand stills over the cupboard's handle.

"Is he what?"

"A monster." It's unclear whether he's asking for Loki or for Odin, and the hand over the handle tightens.

Loki lowers his eyes, opening the door finally and pulling out the first shirt that he sees, "Yes." He murmurs after a while, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing Stark the shirt he'd taken without looking at him.

Stark takes it carefully, looking over it's colors critically, "I - pretty sure that these are for ... women." He informs Loki softly, and from a single glance, Loki knows that he's correct. But he's sitting now. He's not getting up for him again, he's not here at his beck and call.

"Unless you wish to stay completely naked, I suggest you wear it. It's _something_ isn't it, and for whoever it's for shouldn't matter to you right now. Not after I found you, without any on at all, before." 

Stark blinks, looking down at his lap, "Right," He says quietly, before adding on yet another quiet, "Thank you." Well. Twice in the space of two hours, perhaps this 'saving' business has it's reward after all.  

Stark pulls the shirt over his head, hugging himself when it reveals more of his skin than any of his other clothing back in New York likely would, pulling at the shoulder until it falls into place better than it first had when he'd put it on. He remains naked under the sheets, however, and is clearly uncomfortable with this. Perhaps, when Loki decides to get up again, he could get him something? No. When he gets up again, he's leaving here. 

He watches as Stark chews on the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking on what to say. The hole in his ear is pink now, puckered from the water and soap, no longer surrounded by dried blood and dirt; Stark fingers at it when he notices Loki looking, "Escape attempt." He explains and the fact that he's even telling Loki out of his free will, makes him start.

"You did that to yourself?"

The look he gets next is such an echo of how Stark used to be, that Loki's chest actually tightens in anticipation when he thinks so, when he thinks that perhaps he isn't all gone. But the feeling goes and he scoffs at himself, hating how he's now beginning to care about something trivial like that. 

"No," Stark says, dropping his hand into his lap, "The - one of those guys in the band, they did it to me. When I tried to escape. Last week." 

_Last week_.

Loki inwardly smiles. Only a week ago. Hm. So there was some fight still left in him then - good - perhaps that was why the drug had been used on him, "Least I - think it was a week. Time goes so differently when you're all doped out, you know." Loki doesn't answer other than a single hum of acknowledgement, and simply sits back on the chair, looking at him. 

Stark isn't looking at him back; he's staring down at his hands as they twist and wrap together instead, and when next he speaks there's a hollowness that Loki'd not expected from him, "Do you ... how long have you been here?"

Loki sighs, closing his eyes, "Been where?"

"Earth. Midgard."

"Three years." He hears Stark shift over the bed, and after a pause that was likely him deciphering whether Loki was lying to him or not, he finally says.

"And ... and no one's _stopped_ you?" 

Loki opens one eye, taking in Stark's stricken face, and then choosing to open the other with a frown, "I'd no idea that the thought of me being on Midgard would upset you so much."

Stark doesn't snap at his mockery as he perhaps once would have and instead casts his eyes down again, "It's not - I was thinking. While you were gone, I was thinking, before. After I woke up. That, uh, that - well, maybe because _you_ were here and, and maybe, causing trouble for them ... then - then _maybe_ , that was the reason why ... no one had come for me."

So he was pondering on his rescue, then. A rescue of which Loki has seen no sign of at all, having lived on Egypt for several months now. A rescue that, now thinking on it himself, he does not believe exists. And he vocalizes this as answer, perhaps as a punishment for Stark making him feel such pity, "I have not seen nor been near your ' _team_ ' since arriving back upon Midgard. Whatever they are doing whilst _not_ apprehending me, is certainly not looking for you here." 

Stark's eyes shut but his face doesn't crumple, he doesn't sob; he simply nods once and says quieter than before, "I thought so." Loki looks at the hole in his ear. It slices through the entire lobe, jagged on it's inside, and clearly having been done with something sharp and very, very hot. Excruciatingly painful, it must have been, and Loki suddenly wants to lean over and try to seal the skin there; to take the pain of it away. 

He's on his feet before that slightly disturbing thought can finish. Stark's head snaps up, eyes wide with alarm, "N - where are you going?"

Loki doesn't look at him, "I'm done here."

"Wh - ?"

With an almost frustrated sigh, he leans down to push the plate of now-cold food onto Stark's lap, "Mercy, Stark, has it's limits, just as everything else does and as you are safe now, mine has come to it's end," He makes for the door, ignoring the barely comprehendible whimper of protest behind him and speaking over it, "I've need to leave here, now, before any of your team actually does decide to - " He jerks to a stop when a hand weakly grabs at his wrist. 

After realizing what it is, he almost wrenches it back but then, Stark would fly into the wall wouldn't he, and in his condition - barely able to walk - Loki may kill even kill him, and. Well. _After all that_ , it doesn't really seem worth the - 

"Don't go." 

Loki's hand clenches into a fist as he tries to restrain himself from punching something. Because. Stark's voice, his tone, the quaver in his words, he - this is not the man that Loki met and threw from a window. This is a man with nowhere to go and with only the enemy as his savior. 

"Please."

Loki closes his eyes, letting a breath whisper out of his half-open lips. He turns just slightly, to the side and places his own hand over Stark's, engulfing it just as it tightens around his wrist. He pulls it off finger-by-finger, turning around fully to place his other hand on Stark's shoulder, pushing him back down onto the pillows before seating himself on the chair again; still holding that same shaking hand.

Stark's watching him, breathing loud and quick, panicked now after Loki's sudden unintentional 'threat' of abandoning him here. 

"Why are you here, Stark?" He's scrutinized for a little while more; stared at, studied, ensured that he'll not be leaving again so suddenly before Stark finally relaxes just a miniscule amount and answers, " _You_ brought me here, I should be asking you that."

"In Egypt." Loki specifies impatiently, "Why are you here in this country?"

Stark's lips twitch into something that may have once resembled a smile, but now, it only looks rather sad, "It's a long story."

Well.

"I believe that I'm owed it, taken from the fact that I _saved_ you." Stark glances at him sideways, the fragile mask that he'd built up just now, slowly breaking, "Perhaps you could also explain why it is you wish for me to not leave," He smirks then, trying to crack the tension, releasing Stark's hand and letting it drop off of the side of the bed, "I am your enemy, after all. You should be wanting to leave my presence, _yourself_." He pauses. And then, only because he's cruel by nature, and because he's tired, and covered in the ashes of dead men, he adds viciously, "Unless you are hoping that I'll treat you the same as your captors, so that you've an _excuse_ to run from me, or that, perhaps, you even enjoy that treatment." 

He regrets it, and perhaps it shows, but Stark doesn't look away. 

Instead. A single tear slides down half of his bruised face. Perfectly formed, pearl-like, leaving a glistening trail over flushed skin. Loki wipes it away with two fingers in apology and Stark doesn't flinch - good - but he does let out a shuddering breath, turning his face away and pulling his knees up until the blankets bunch around him. 

"If I'm free to leave at any time I want," He whispers, his voice cracking, "And you want to leave here in case you get caught, then can I be free to leave _with_ you?"

Loki straightens, purposefully ignoring how young Stark sounds just now, and irritably saying, "You are not my prisoner. I saw you being abused, I took you from there, and from here you may leave whenever and however you - "

"Then _can_ I go with you?" Loki's jaw shuts with a click, "Wh ... wherever it is, you're going." 

Loki narrows his eyes, "Why would you want to?"

"I don't - I can't go back to New York. It's been - there's just so much that I - please," He whispers now, "Can I?" Loki's sure now, sure that his face isn't as blank as he hopes he's made it to be, and he knows that some of his disbelief is showing through. Because. Not only does Stark want to stay with _him_ , but he's asking him for permission to. 

"Loki," He blinks, focusing on Stark again, "I - You can kill me, you can hurt me, you can, I don't know, have your _revenge_ on me, I really don't fucking care, and as long as you don't - " He shuts his eyes, " _Rape_ me, I don't care. Just - don't leave me here alone. Please. And don't take me back to New York." 

Loki stares, "Why?" Stark's lips are shaking, just as they were back in that whorehouse and at those images again, at the reminder of how Loki had found him, he wants to turn away from what that means but he can't now. Not after Stark is finally meeting his gaze head-on. 

"It's - " Another tear falls, as Stark repeats himself, "It's a long story." 

Tell me, Loki wants to say, but not as he had done to the Black Widow, but because he truly wishes to know. He wants to know so badly, how a man like Stark; head-strong, stubborn, able to insult a God in the face of death - can become a meek version of a mortal, now avoiding even the gentlest touches and pleading to run away with the enemy instead of returning home to allies. It doesn't make any sense, to him at least, and he _wants to know **how**_.

"Stark - " 

"Why _did_ you help me?" Stark interrupts him shakily before he can decline his request, "The truth, please, not some riddle-like question. Why help _me_?" Stark raises his head, meeting his gaze, "I mean, like you said, you're my enemy. Aren't you." 

Loki's jaw creaks when he clenches it, grinding his teeth. 

Why indeed. He sighs. Because Stark reminds him of those women that he'd hurt? Because no one should be treated as such? Because even he has limits to what he can stand to see happening? Because -  

He runs his tongue over his teeth. "Eat the food Stark." 

He stands again then, ignoring Stark's sharp intake of breath - believing that he's leaving once more - and he walks toward the bathroom for a second shower in only two hours. But then. Just before he locks the door, he waves a hand behind him and the food warms in Stark's plate. 

When tiny wisps of smoke rise from it, and shaking fingers prod to test the temperature, he doesn't miss Stark's grateful smile but he shuts the door before yet another 'thank you' can be said to him. 

.

\---- 

.

Loki doesn't bother wasting time drying his hair; he lets it drip down the back of his neck as he exits the shower, but other than that the only thing he regrets is exiting without anything on. Well. Anything covering his upper half, his lower is clothed enough. 

Luckily, Stark isn't looking at him and is, instead, curled up asleep again on the bed. Loki pauses, looking at him in surprise, but then, he supposes he shouldn't be as surprised as, after seeing the way he was before, knowing now that he's safe but still fearing his savior must be exhausting. 

And never really having been expected to do much, other than to simply lie there and let others abuse you, now being able to think so clearly after however long it's been for him, will probably have taken it's toll on the boy. 

Loki dries his shirt, cleaning it over and pulling it over his still-wet head when he's done, tired himself after using his magic for far too much this one day alone. Stark shifts in his sleep, moaning and curling a fist by his mouth, his eyelids moving as he dreams. 

Loki sits in the seat again, looking at him and wondering himself, where the team was, if not here. Stark hadn't seemed surprised in his belief that there was no rescue; what did that mean? A fight between them? He wouldn't be surprised. The closest band of warriors always seemed to have the worst disputes when finally finding their countless differences. 

Stark moans softly, turning his head and sighing. Loki reaches over and pushes his damp hair from his forehead, using his own towel to wipe the stray droplets on his cheek. He hadn't noticed before, but now, wiping him dry, he could see how clean-shaven Stark was. The goatee was still present, meaning that perhaps, his captors had decided to keep him as they'd found him; albeit bruises and wounds of course. For the joy of the customers, perhaps? 

He grimaces in disgust, leaning back and running a hand down his face, closing his own eyes. He has to open them again, however, when the hand still resting on Stark's brow falls as the man in question turns again, frowning in his sleep and hissing out in pain that wasn't real. 

He knows it's a nightmare, would rather not be here when he awakes and be needed for comfort, but now that he's seen the effects of Stark's fear, he can't quite bring himself to leave him here like this. 

Stark, however, calms down himself eventually, turning over and crying out only the once before settling and curling up under the blankets, squeezing his eyes shut. Loki stays. Watching. 

It's almost noon when he decides to do something else, standing from the chair and stretching his limps before quietly leaving the room, glancing back at Stark just the once, only in case. 

~

Thor. Find Thor and he finds the Avengers. Find the Avengers and Stark is home and safe and away, and then Loki can perhaps start thinking straight, and like himself again. 

However. Find Thor and Loki would find himself in a cell once again. Unless, Thor is already aware of where he is and what he's doing anyway, due to his murdering of all those men this morning. In that case, find Thor and he practically presents himself for arrest. 

He sighs, walking down the street toward the food court, ignoring any beggars that ask for money or any vehicles that don't watch where they're going. He purchases something for himself, immediately thinking of Stark as well, and when he realises this, he scowls to himself. Is this all a test from Odin? Sent, perhaps, to _teach_ him to pity the very mortals he tried his hardest to kill? 

It wouldn't surprise him. 

He ignores the whim to overlook Stark and to get angry at Odin's 'all-seeing' mind, and instead resigns himself to the fact that he cares - just a little - about Stark's well-being. At least until he can get rid of him. 

He's on his way back, having walked for over an hour now, going nowhere and simply wanting to think, when the gunshot sounds just beside his head. He freezes, staring at it, before slowly looking over his shoulder. 

Three men stand behind him, guns held out. Even in Egypt, such public violence isn't common, and from what he can see from their looks, these men are probably not even from this country anyhow. Shooting at him, however, is usually a sure sign that they are a part of any gang that he has become the enemy of and when they hoist their guns higher, he can't help but want to scream his sudden frustration out to the sky.

Because whoever they are, they want him dead. And right now, he really only wants to sleep. 

He prepares himself to fight them back though, just as he has always done with the other men after his blood, but then another shot sounds; this one comes from above him and it's then that he realises how outnumbered he is. 

Well. He drops the bags in his hands, building his magic and rolling his eyes skyward. Perhaps Odin had heard his inner insults toward him before. Or maybe, as per the norm for him throughout his entire life, fate seemed to simply despise him for existing. 

The first man to drop from his magic is replaced by another and he sighs, knowing now, what a long afternoon this is turning out to be. 

.

\---- 

.

Stark's awake when he returns, sitting in bed with the remains of the house's phone, tinkering inside it as though it were broken. Either giving himself stimulation, or actually fixing it in order to use it. 

He jerks his head up when Loki enters the room, visibly stiffening and sucking in a short breath, but - surprisingly - when he sees it's Loki, he relaxes. Contradicting everything that Loki has ever known about enemy and ally. Though, he supposes, as the man's savior, there are likely to be exceptions in this situation. 

Stark's eyes rake over him and he presses his lips together in both concern and curiosity, and it's then that Loki actually looks down at his clothes himself. The shirt is ripped, blood from a bullet wound seeping through his left sleeve, mud covers his hair from where he had been shoved to the ground, and a deep scratch on his cheek makes every blink painful. 

He really needs a golden apple sometime soon. 

Stark shifts on the bed when Loki steps into the room, shutting the door after him before glaring over at him, "Not a word." He threatens darkly, hating how Stark digs his nails into his palms at the tone, "Not. A single word." 

And then. Promptly. He pitches forward, landing hard on the floor; unconscious. 

.

~ 

.

He wakes agonizingly slowly to something pressing against his wounded shoulder. He hisses, turning away and opening his eyes. The room's too bright and though the curtains are now shut, every light in it is on. The pain has slowly throbbed away and even though his shoulder still aches, nothing else feels as painful as it had before. 

He frowns when whatever-it-is is pressed to his head instead, squinting toward the only person that it could be doing that, and he glares again at Stark. He's met with a raised eyebrow. 

"You heal pretty fast, do you know that?" Of course he does, fool, "What happened to you? Out there?" 

"Your customers are not the only men that I have provoked here," He doesn't get a reaction from the word _customer_ , and instead Stark narrows his eyes in thought, not saying what it is that he thinks but frowning over it while he does. 

"What did you do, steal their food?" Hm. Humor. Good.

"More I frightened them with magic until they left the women they harassed alone." 

Stark stares at him. He removes the cloth that's patting against Loki's cheek, throwing it toward the bathroom door when he notices how drenched in blood it is, before continuing to stare at Loki as if in shock. 

Then he smiles, "You shouldn't do things like that. One day someone might kidnap you for it." 

Loki sits up, grimacing when he realises that he's still lying on the floor. Stark grows rigid when he moves but calms quickly enough, flashing a grin when Loki looks at him. 

His new, little blase attitude is so perfect, it's so transparently clear just how much he's actually pretending. Terrified of him, he still must be, but the Man Of _Iron_ does apparently not cower. At least, not when focused enough to stop himself from doing so. Tony Stark however, Tony Stark may be a different story. 

"Kidnap?" Loki asks, and Stark looks down at his hands with a shrug. 

So. Tony Stark is the man that Loki found in that brothel. Tony Stark is the man who awoke begging and screaming, who flinches at every touch, who pleads to not be left alone. 

And now, Tony Stark is the man hiding inside his precious Iron-armor, however metaphoric it may be. 

Stark nods slowly, letting out a breath, "Why do you want to know what happened to me?" Loki doesn't answer but Stark doesn't seem to have finished anyway, "You said, before, that you're owed my 'tale of woe', but that's not it, is it. It - is it curiosity? Because that I can understand. I can - " 

Loki smiles at him, "If it _were_ curiosity, would you indulge it?" He presses a hand to his cheek, wincing when the smile makes it ache. Stark had said that he was healing faster, but that couldn't be right. Faster than a Midgardian yes, but not as fast as he usually would. He hopes that the wound doesn't scar. Because if it did, how humiliating. Marked by a _mortal_ , of all things. 

Stark laughs quietly at his question, short and pained, coughing behind his hand afterward. Pain in his throat? Ah yes, those marks from yesterday, from strangulation. 

"Maybe. " He says, smiling back. 

Loki runs a hand through his dirtied hair, growing tired with all these showers and wondering if there was a way where he could fully cleanse himself without having to have another one. Stark gives the mud a disgusted glance when it falls over his knees and he shifts away from it, wincing himself at whatever pain he has. Most likely in the lower regions, judging from both his face and the situation. 

Silence fills the room once again and Loki grits his teeth at it, always having hated the quiet, "Or," He starts, trying to remember what they were even talking of, just to fill it, "I could always just find out myself by simply looking for it in your mind?"

Stark snaps his head toward him, not in fear or anger, but in ... interest, "Really? You're - you can actually _do_ that? Your magic's that advanced?" Advanced. Hm. Loki almost smiles at that, but too much self-pride has never really been his forte. 

"Yes. I am able to do that." He says, dusting his clothes off and standing. Stark tries to follow, stumbling, and as resigned as he had made himself before, Loki helps him back onto the bed; making him sit on the pillows whilst he sits himself on the bunched blankets, cleaning his clothes and shaking the mud out of his hair. 

"So. How - How does that work?" Stark's eyes are full of complete interest now; curiosity. A man of knowledge, then, with a thirst to learn more. A man similar to that of which Loki had once been. A younger and eager, more loyal him. 

He cracks the bones in his fingers at the image that that conjures up for him, finding himself now either too tired or too frustrated to give an explanation of 'how it works' anyway, or to even demand Stark to be silent about it. And so instead, he simply leans forward and says, "Like this," Touching two fingers over Stark's forehead, and closing his eyes - just as a sharp cry of "No, wait - !" - rings out. 

Magic wraps around him in barely a second. His mind fuses with Stark's. Control is out of his hands but his eyes and ears are as over-sensitized as they can be, when memories begin to bombard them. 

\--- 

Voices sound out, shouts of anger, screams of pain, taunting words and - 

_"You don't actually think things through at all, do you Stark?_ " Contempt. 

_" What the hell is_ wrong _with you, you stupid son of a -_ " 

_"Open your mouth, now. Open your FUCKING mouth and take it in!"_

_"No! No please just - just stop it, STOP!"_

" _What's that?_ Huh? _You can't breathe? You can't? I can't hear you bitch, you might want to speak up."_ Laughter. 

_"It's just a little prick, you won't feel a - stay the fuck down, do you understand me? You want another broken wrist Stark, you want one? Yeah, go ahead and scream. Scream all you want, there's_ no one _here to - !_ "

\--- 

Stark rears back, hitting the headboard hard and staring at him wide-eyed. His hands are over his mouth, pressed hard to his face while he shakes his head at him. Loki remains sitting where he was, his hands still outstretched and it's only now that he realises what an awful idea that had been. 

"I - " 

Stark looks away when Loki speaks, his hands still at his mouth and he shuts his eyes, "I didn't intend on - " He sighs, lowering his hand and inwardly scorning himself for his complete and utter foolishness, "I'm sorry."

Stark moves one hand, mumbling behind the other dully, "You had no right to do that."

"I know. I'm sorry," There's a quiet scoff at that, and instead of getting angry at it, Loki delves more into his honest side. This is, after all, his fault, and let it not be said that he can't be responsible at times, "I wasn't thinking and I should not have done that. However, I'll assure you now, that I won't ever take from you what you don't wish to give to me. I promise." 

At that, Stark does look up, his eyes haunted by the pain and trauma of his own memories, of which Loki has probably only saw and heard a mere sample of just now. He removes the other hand, looking at Loki with naked confusion, "Who are you?" 

Loki blinks, a sudden wave of brief panic flowing through him at the thought of his magic having damaged the man's brain somehow, but then Stark adds more to his question, "And what have you done with the _real_ Loki?" Ah. "You know - the - the cruel, murdering, _War_ -criminal Loki?" 

Loki smiles, looking down with a slight, one-shouldered shrug, "And what, Stark, makes you so certain that how I am _now_ is not the 'real Loki'?" 

Stark tilts his head, his face softening just a little. He doesn't answer for a while, so that when he does, his voice is just barely above a whisper, "Well. I hope it is." 

Well then. Loki clears his throat, looking out the window. 

"What did you see?" 

"Hm?" 

"In my head. Did you - all those things that I saw, those memories, is that what you saw as well?" Has he been forgiven that quickly? Or is Stark simply frightened that he may leave if the 'mistake' is commented on further?

He leans back, nodding in answer, "More or less so, yes. I would only have ever seen those memories that were probably one of the few most significant to you. Memories that have either a deeper meaning to you, or others that haunt your mind." 

"Right. And ... can you get rid of memories?" 

"No." 

"Typical." 

Loki smiles again, still looking out the window but when he does turn back, Stark's smiling just a little as well. Barely there, barely noticeable, and detectable only if one really looks for it. Which of course, Loki realises he's doing almost unconsciously now. Trying to look constantly for improvements in Stark's behavior. Especially after seeing a glimpse of what had happened to him, of seeing those men - 

_What's that? You can't breathe?_

Perhaps he should control how his face darkens at the slight drop of a mood, taking into account how nervous it seems to make Stark, but with these kind of thoughts, he can't bring himself to. Thoughts of how someone could - of them pressing the Stark's head down as they abuse him, keeping it down, goading him whenever he screams at the lack of oxygen, when he can't even - 

"I was in Paris." Loki starts, snapping his head up toward Stark. The man in question looks blank, speaking to his nails than to Loki, but it doesn't take long for Loki to realize what he's telling him, "When I was ... taken. I was in Paris on a business trip." 

Paris. Paris, France. The place of romance, he's heard. How ironic.

He gestures to Stark that he continue, schooling his expressions to be as blank as Stark's are, watching as he takes in a slow breath, before carefully meeting Loki's gaze; giving him a half-smile once again. 

And then. He explains. 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be just two chapters, but my mind's been fluctuating with the tiny little plot. So four chapters, hopefully, if my brain gives it a rest :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how annoying this chapter was >:(
> 
> So sorry for the incredibly long wait. I'm awful and busy :/

.

~

.

Stark sleeps for over three hours after he eventually finishes speaking. Loki, for his part, had mostly listened in silence, but now he has to restrain himself from making any sort of noise if only to make sure that he doesn't wake the man too early.

Sleep is good. Sleep heals.

It's almost dawn; Loki paces the room, restless, bored, _angry_. So angry that he wishes he could cease feeling entirely. He's always been so angry, he knows, ever since -

But now. Being angry on the behalf of someone else is something that he's not used to and he almost hates the feeling more than he hates the people that have caused all of this to start with. If it had not for them, then he would never have had to witness any of this - of what pain like this can do to a man like Stark.

Looking over toward the bed, he lets his gaze slide over Stark's curled body. Small, trembling, terrified even in his sleep. He's having difficulty breathing at a normal pace. Always hyperventilating.

Always so scared.

Loki watches. And he wonders. He wonders when he had begun to even care about something like that.

Wonders when he had begun to care for a mortal.

For Stark.

.

~

.

_An hour ago._

.

A horn blasts only a few feet away from the room that they're sitting in. A heavy cloud of rain begins to pour down over the people rushing back from the market-place and Stark is looking through the window, watching as a bird tries to take on the wind. He acts as though Loki's not even in the room, though he continues to speak.

Loki listens. He watches.

Stark picks at the blankets. "I - didn't go to that meeting because I wanted to. I - I _went_ because - to - " He pauses, swallowing, reminding himself inwardly that it is his choice to tell this tale. "To _appease_ people. Mostly." Loki's leaning back on a chair, looking at him. His eyes are half shut now, and a hand is pressed to the cut just over his cheek. Stark continues to watch the window, refusing to even glance toward him just the once.

Afraid, likely, that if he remembers just who it is that he is talking to, he'll not continue and the rest of his story will remain locked within him. Just as it has been for however long it's been. Torture in itself, in a way.

"My assistant. Pepper. Sh - she kept on, uh," He clears his throat, "Kept pestering me. Kept saying that I had to go. That it - that it was _important_. And - and the team and I weren't exactly on good terms then - either, so - so I went." Loki doesn't comment on just how obviously Stark avoids the subject of what has happened between him and his "friends". He's curious of course, but it can wait.

When a pause grows too long, Loki takes his cue and asks: "And you were 'taken' then?"

Stark nods. His expression is barely an echo of the way that it had been when Loki had first seen it - in that plane after Germany during their first meetings - and yet, for some reason, all it does is remind Loki of how far he has fallen. "Four days in, yeah. I was. I - there was a partner that I used to do business with. General Roy Cuther." _Remember that name_. "He had - hadn't called for me in a while. For five years - actually. Mostly because - 'cause I'd stopped doing weapons, and - all of the other things that he could use, so he - he wasn't a partner for us anymore."

Stark sucks in a sharp breath, a hand coming up to the red lines on his throat. At a guess, Loki would say some sort of wire. Thin, hard. Tugged back to keep his head up for whatever reason they'd had for it to be so. "But then. Then he started getting interested in clean energy as well, so ... Pepper. And the board. They - they said it would be better if we talked face-to-face. Get us working together again." He lowers his eyes and whispers, "'Good for the company'."

Breathing in slowly, Stark closes his eyes, only letting it out before he's finally 'ready' to continue. Loki rolls his tongue over his teeth, some part of him wondering just whether or not he should stop him from speaking. This is clearly affecting him. But he's so curious himself - especially now - and if Stark wishes to silence himself then he would have done so already.

He is not forcing him to speak.

Loki shifts with a grunt of mild pain when he aggravates his almost-healed bruises on his side, glancing over toward how Stark's sitting; hunched, curled, fingers biting into the mattress where he probably thinks that Loki can't see.

He's not forcing him.

This is Stark's choice, and yet -

"The fourth day that I was - that I was there, Cuther asked to see me in his office after dark. Said that h - he'd got something to 'show me'. Something that would change my view of him, as a weapons man, completely. I was - suspicious. Obviously. I me - who wouldn't be, I - the guy was a creep."

Thunder claps outside. Stark's fingers dig into the mattress until his knuckles paint white.

"By the time midnight came around I was drunk anyway." He scoffs at himself, bitterly, and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. Loki inspects his nails, wondering just when this tale will begin to get interesting. He hates himself for thinking that, and then hates himself for his second thought as well. _Damn this all._ "Not - a lot. But - but _enough_. Enough that I - I went alone and - and unarmed. I was - stupid. I'm here _now_ because I was so stupid."

Loki looks at him, watching every tell that the man is showing as he speaks. The slight tremble to his fingers, for instance, is something that he would once have smiled at seeing. But now? Now he wants his own fingers to shake. Preferably after he has driven them through either a wall or a _skull_. "And - and I _knew_ \- I knew that something was wrong soon as I stepped inside but I - I _still_ went." He clenches a fist, whispering to himself, bitterly: "... _Stupid_."

Loki slowly blinks, running a hand through his hair and fidgeting; uncomfortable. His instinct tells him to agree. To say to him that he _had_ been foolish, yes, and that he _is_ here because of his own doing. But he knows that that isn't true. Not really. And as it's cruel of him to say so, he has to bite the words back to stop himself.

Once. He wouldn't have even bothered with even that.

"It was - it was empty but I knew I'd heard voices inside before, so I - I - I turned around and they'd - _waited_ until I was completely - 'til there was _no_ way I could escape. I couldn't even - I - one of them - he put a needle in me. A sedative. ... They handcuffed me." He shrugs, the gesture something awkward on him when it was once so natural to see in his tower. "I dunno know what happened after that." He scoffs again and quietly adds: "Duh." Before sighing and looking down at his lap, "But - I woke up in a hotel room and I - " He swallows, his eyelashes fluttering twice. "I was naked."

The beat that Loki has been tapping out over his knee ceases and he turns, looking out of the window himself now. Biting down on the inside of his cheeks.

It's still raining.

Stark continues over the sound of it, shivering and sliding further under the blankets. His voice dull now. Detached. "I knew what had happened. Anyone would have guessed at least." He picks at his nails, biting into the skin beneath them until one of them bleeds. His pace quickens, his voice becoming almost hushed now. "I got up and - I tried to leave but. But the door was locked. I smashed the window out and three of them came in. I - I fought them, I swe - I fought so _hard_ \- I swear to _God_ , I thought I'd - "

There's a bang at the window. Stark physically jumps, turning toward it - wide-eyed. Loki turns as well, watcheing as Stark realizes that it is only ice in the rain falling from the sky. His chest heaves as he tries to slow his breathing and Loki stands with a sigh of his own, pulling the blinds down manually and sitting on the edge of the bed afterward, instead.

Stark looks at him now, shuffling his legs backward to make room and giving him a small, half smile - _Don't. Don't smile at me. Save them for someone that matters to you, later. For when you truly mean it._ \- before continuing, blowing air from his mouth in an attempt to further relax, "That's - that's it. Sort of." No it isn't. As though sensing Loki's doubt, Stark opens his mouth to continue: as blunt as he has been so far, probably, as though this has all happened to someone else and not him.

Never him.

A lightning flash passes through the curtain just as he shifts; lighting half of his face with white. Loki notices new bruises in the light, marks and scrapes from teeth and metal, reddened flesh abused under someone's hand. Stark looks away at the anger in his gaze. "I'm sorry." He whispers and Loki feels his stomach twist inside of him. "I'll - I'll stop talking."

 _No._ "How did you get here?" Loki asks him quietly - instead of assuring him that that is not where his anger has come from. He should. He should say so. But he can't. Pride, again, isn't it. It's always his pride. "From France?"

There's a long, stretched silence.

Stark looks at him. "They sell me. Sometimes they - trade, too. Me for. For another slave." Loki's spine tightens behind him when he sits straighter. _Slave._ "This is the fourth brothel that I've been to. Usually it's - it's just one buyer." Teeth biting into his lip, he turns way, "And then you found me."

Loki narrows his eyes, looking him over, "And those men?" Stark looks up, a mild frown pressed in his forehead, "Those that I killed? Who are they?"

"Th - " Stark presses his lips together, disgust suddenly written over his face and his eyes darken in an anger that Loki remembers seeing all of those years ago. In the tower. "Cuther's lackeys." He spits but he doesn't. Not quite. It's more than a whisper or murmur at least, and Loki smiles when the hesitancy that was so present before vanishes in this new fury, "He pays for their silence. Wherever I'm sent. He pays for them to ignore their laws and to hide me from anyone that would have - would have _done_ something to help me."

He's shaking again but now, whether or not it's from fury or fear, Loki can't tell. "Only foreigners, or - or Cuther's men and the rich are - are ' _allowed_ ' to - " He stops, fisting his hands in the blanket and shaking it hard. Clearly hating himself for all of the fear and information that he's revealing. "To - "

Truly, Loki's surprised himself, how much he's said to him. He'd expected there to be secrets still kept, of course, or that Stark's reserve at talking to the enemy would have an effect. But, perhaps, having gone so long in lacking in civil conversation, maybe he just hasn't felt the need to keep his emotions and thoughts in check. Why would he?

He called himself slave, and to Loki's knowledge, slaves are not permitted to speak without permission. To be able to do so now, so freely, why would he want to stop?

"Okay." Stark finishes after a pause, shrugging a shoulder of his slowly and curling up under the blankets even more. "There. Um. Now - now you know. My, uh. My 'tale of woe'." Loki continues to pick at his own nails, grimacing at the dirt and ashes and mud beneath them, and inwardly rolling his eyes at his own bad habits.

"Not all of it." He murmurs slowly, seeing Stark glance at him in the corner of his eye, "What of you and your team?"

"That's my business." Stark murmurs back, looking down. Well then. _There_ is the reserve. Typical. "I owed you _something_. 'Not - all of it'. But something."

Loki scoffs himself now, raising his eyebrows at him, "Owed me? Let's not pretend that you didn't feel how ' _freeing_ ' it was telling me all of that."

Stark looks at him, and then away. "Look." He starts, softly, "I s - said it to you before and I'll say it again. I don't care what you do to me. So long as - " His breath hitches and he coughs into his hand, his face pinched with pain when he rubs at the lines on his throat again. Loki frowns. "So long as it's _not_ ..." He trails off, not quite finishing and yet the word is so very obviously dangling from the tip of his tongue. "Look. Okay. You can use what I told you just now, if you _want_. Knock - knock yourself out. I - I - don't. _Care_."

____

Loki's frown deepens and, for some inane reason, Stark's words seem to irk him to a point that he speaks without thinking, "You seemed to care when you first woke up here." 

Stark stares at him. His lips are shaking. "Because I was - I - " He blinks, sharply. "Why do you _say_ things like that?" He's begun to bodily shake again and Loki automatically leans forward to - what? Comfort him? He's hardly the best person to do that. But Stark looks away before he can anyway, flinching hard when Loki shifts closer. As though he's expecting to be struck simply for speaking out like that. A harsh, flash of regret passes through Loki when Stark immediately begins to apologize for something that he really shouldn't have to. "I didn't say that. I didn't. I'm - I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It was just - ignore it. Just. _Please_. It wasn't like - " 

Loki's chest is now a bubbling mixture of hot and warm; the bones of his face have slowly tightened so much that it's an effort to unclench his jaw. He refuses to comply with Stark's hushed requests and ignores whatever he feels at the sudden air of pure fear that's now begun to radiate from him. 

He wants to stop him, to tell him that there's no need for this but the only thing that comes to mind is - "How long have you been gone, Stark?" 

Freezing for almost a whole minute at the question, Stark curls his hands together, squeezing them tight. "I - um. I don't know, I - " He looks at Loki, properly, and worries over his lip, biting skin from it off while he chews. "What ... month is it?" 

"Month?" Loki stretches his arm out, waiting for his joints to crack before standing again and walking toward the curtains, "November." He peers past the blinds at the road below. No one passes now, though there are a few children laughing in the rain, having some joy at the cool weather compared to the heat of their usual climate. 

"November." Stark repeats, his lips barely moving. Dull. He hadn't had any hope of rescue before, Loki knows, but now. Now he's certain. And for some reason he's both furious and glad of it. 

Loki guesses Stark's next words before he even says them, but it still takes him by surprise. "I went to France in February. Feb the - 4th. I - " He lets out a strange sort of laugh. One that doesn't last long at all anyway. Loki turns when it begins to sound more like a sob. "7 months. I've - been gone for _7_ \- 7 months." He blinks three times, looking up at the ceiling and then at the foot of the bed. Anywhere but Loki. 

There's an unbearably long silence before he next speaks; his voice is clogged with emotion, "Why do you want to - to know - ?" 

_To distract you._ "I doubted you knew yourself." Loki murmurs, opening the cupboard to raid the bottom of the pile of clothes for a jacket to wear, "I was right." 

Stark watches him warily, shifting when he slips an old wooly cardigan on when no jacket can be found. "... You're leaving?" 

Yes. In the rain, he's less than likely to be disturbed by anyone and anything that he's need to get, he can get now. Food, for example, is something that the people who had lived here before ran out of this morning. But he can't tell Stark that. "No. Merely cold." 

Stark looks at him, one hand wiping at his face though, for the first time, there's nothing there for him to hide away. "Are you going to come back?" Loki sighs, annoyed Stark sensed his lie. "I'm sorry." And then regrets it at Stark's apology, growing all the more angry at all of this. The situation, Stark's new - meek nature, and the nature of his _own_ thoughts. "I know you - you said before but I just - " 

"I won't go yet, calm yourself. Sleep for a while, it will help." 

"But - " 

"I can help you sleep. I've a soothing spell." Stark looks at him, slowly. Still so wary, even of him. His "savior". 

_Don't go. Please._

"It only works under consent." And then Stark's lips twitch, ever so slightly, upward. Just once but that's all Loki needs to see. "Do I have your consent, Stark?" 

"Soothing spell?" 

"It is what the name suggests. Do I have your consent?" There's another pause before the decision is finally made and Stark shrugs in answer. Loki takes it as a yes. The spell will not work if he hasn't received any, so he'll know soon enough anyway. Stark recoils when he places a hand on his wrist, tries to pull away, but Loki ignores the instincts and holds him still. Seeping the spell and bind of his magic and mood into the man. 

Stark's eyes dilate under the magic, the lines of worry and fear on his face fading and he immediately falls backward over the pillows when Loki releases his arm. He shuts his eyes when Loki stands but doesn't fall asleep until a blanket has covered him and the lights in the room have dimmed a little. 

Loki stands in the same spot for two hours, thinking. 

Touching a hand to Stark's forehead before he leaves, Loki irrationally feels as though he is being watched and he glances upward out of habit - knowing that even if Heimdall did have his eyes on him, he'd not be able to tell anyway. It's simply a feeling but he moves his hand away just in case. 

Stark's suffered enough. 

Odin doesn't need to get involved in this as well. 

.

~

.

It's irritating really, to remember that it was only yesterday that he had gone to the market-place, but then - thanks to those men before - he'd lost all of his food before. Buying more again today, he chooses lighter things instead and thinks more on Stark this time than himself.

He buys something of everything. Sweet, sour, chilli, hot, cold, raw and cooked. Some of the things, however, even he turns his nose at and many of the people actually still around then give him the look that he has so often seen whilst living here.

_Foreigner._

He supposes he should be glad that he's not recognized out here. Egypt may not be a country that he's fond of, but at least he can live here. It's comforting, in a way, however, to know now that he has not always been living around men that would so easily abuse someone like that. That brothel before must have been one of a kind around here which must have been why it had been so private. And the men in charge had not even lived here either as well, as he'd almost noticed before anyway, and had been under an American's command.

General _Roy Cuther._ How easy would it be to find a man with that name. Harder than breaking his neck, perhaps, but not entirely too difficult either -

"Are you buying? Sir?" The man before him asks in his language and Loki glances upward once, nodding, and handing over the 'note' of paper money that is in his hands. The man takes it, looks at the note in whatever light there is from the sun and puts it in a brown sack beside him, giving Loki the plastic bag with his food inside. "Thank you."

Loki acknowledges the words with another nod and turns away. He's careful on his way back this time and only stops the once, looking at a sign beside a hotel. It's in English, he can tell, and the woman tending to the flowers that it advertises is British as well - judging from her looks, clothes and accent.

She notices him stop and turns to look at him. Soft features, brown eyes and hair, and a long white dress. Once, Loki would have thought of Sigyn. Now all he can see is this woman lying bleeding in some corner while men laugh at her tears, kick her down and suffocate her while she -

"Can I help you?"

"No." He says curtly, walking away, before - he looks at the sign again, and then turns back. "Actually. You can."

.

~

.

"What are you doing?"

Stark spins around so quickly, he falls against the open cupboard door and remains frozen there until Loki's shut the door, dropped his bags, and crossed the room toward him.

"I - " He calms himself faster than usual and clears his throat. His hands shaking but his voice steady. "I - wanted some different clothes."

Loki finds the small fridge in the corner - something that he knows some families have in bedrooms as well as kitchens because of the hot weather. His hair is wet and dripping and he shakes it out of his eyes as he puts in anything cold over the fridge's shelves. Stark watches him, surprised, and Loki resists the urge to haughtily tell him how long he's been living here. He knows well enough what to do with bits of technology now.

He's learnt.

"Well, what are you waiting for then? I'm not stopping you." Stark blinks, turning away. He's holding a smaller blanket around his naked waist and legs as he stands and uses his spare arm to look through the other clothes. Loki scratches at his neck when he's finished with the food; waiting.

"You've a shirt already, trousers are not hard to find."

"This shirt's for women."

Loki tuts. "Technicalities." He then smirks, "It suits you."

Stark stops, looking into the cupboard and when his entire frame goes rigid Loki wonders if he should simply just shut up. Almost _everything_ he says -

"No it doesn't." Stark says quietly, not looking at him. He pulls out a white shirt and brown, fabric trouser. "Too big." He mutters.

"You have lost weight, Stark. A lot of it. Everything in that cupboard is too big for you, make do."

Stark looks down at the clothes. He turns and stumbles toward the bathroom. Loki walks with him and opens the door for him, considerate as he is - _please_ \- as his hands are both full.

-

Loki's eating the inside of a pomegranate when Stark finally reemerges from the bathroom and he sucks juice from his fingers to hide the laugh that he feels arising at the sight. The clothes _are_ too big, but that shouldn't be as humorous as it is. Stark's fingers vanish under it's sleeves and it billows around him. The trousers, at least, are elastic and belted. They fit. The shirt? Well. It doesn't matter really, so he refrains from commenting.

It is, however, mostly due to Stark himself. With how he makes himself so small automatically, shoulders raised and knees bent. Ready to either kneel or fall at someone's push or request.

The loss of weight is no real help either.

"I was beginning to think you had fallen asleep again." Stark doesn't answer and, instead, looks at the pomegranate. "Have some if you wish."

"I'm not hungry."

"Stark." Loki pushes the other half toward him. "You are. I will not give you 'permission' to eat, so if you wish to, do so. I'll not stop you. Why would I." Stark doesn't move. "Eat it or I will." Even after that it takes two minutes to pass before he slowly sits down. The pomegranate is snatched up as though Loki is going to take it away and it's then greedily ate.

Loki remembers the food that he'd given before and wanders what's changed. Maybe nothing has. Maybe Stark is simply used to having the same thing all the time. Loki had given him soup. Has he always eaten nothing but soup or liquid-based food?

"Did you - buy anything else?"

"Many things." Loki answers, and more of the juice sprays when he bites, catching his eye. He jerks, rubbing at it, and in the corner of his eye notices Stark smile and look down. Hiding it. "Here." He then says, reaching behind him for one of the still full bags. Stark tilts his head at him and stares at what Loki puts between them on the bed. "For you."

The bouquet is small. There aren't many plants but it is mostly full of daisies, roses and forgetmenots.

Stark blinks. And blinks again. "Um."

"The woman said that they were for healing." Loki explains. Flowers are often used on Asgard for healing potions and remedies. Of course Midgard would have something similar.

"Oh. I - " Stark stops, blinking for a third time. "They're very, um - " And then he snorts. It's short, only a second long, but it's the truest sound that he's made since being here. He does it again, laughing a little now, and his shoulders shake.

Loki frowns, annoyed. " _What_?"

"Nothing. I - thank you." He's smiling a little, faint but there. "It's just - " He takes a breath, explaining, "Look they, um, they are for healing, yeah, but it’s - not for _pain_ stuff. It’s for emotional. They're for, uh, for 'healing' relationships and - uh, broken hearts and - and stuff. Any - thing to do with love."

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Love."

Stark nods at him slowly. "Yeah."

There's a pause between them and Loki eats another seed, biting it between front two teeth. "Fine." He then says, reaching for the stems. Stark pulls it back before he can.

"No." Loki gives him a look but Stark looking at the flowers now, and not him. "I like them."

Loki retracts his hand, shaking his head, "Very well then. Keep them. I was planning on crushing them to use for your wounds but if you'd rather have them to hold - " Stark holds the flowers closer, protectively, and Loki keeps his mouth open, a little disbelievingly.

“Does it work? With magic and - stuff?”

Loki nods, sitting back. “For small wounds and so on.” He pauses, looking at him, “What do you mortals use them for, if not that?”

Stark shrugs, “To look pretty.”

His tone is off and Loki stretches afterward, rubbing a hand over one cheek, “I take it you are relating then - ”

“Stop it.” Stark hisses quietly, looking down, before flinching again. Soon, Loki is going to show him that he has nothing to fear from him. He needs to assure him, the assumption that he will be striked is something that seems to make Loki’s stomach burn with acid and bile. “Please - stop saying things like that.”

Loki looks at him. He doesn’t apologize but he doesn't continue either. The blanket is suddenly more interesting.

" _Why have you got that_?" The plastic around the flowers crinkles and Loki snaps his head back up when Stark’s leg stiffens in his peripheral gaze. There's no humor in his eyes now. “Why - ?”

Loki straightens, the fear in Stark's now suddenly _hushed_ voice making him start and he turns, looking down at the bag. A jar of chilli powder has fallen out of it. What - ?

"I'm - I - haven't done anything - I didn't do anything wrong, I swear, I only - I stayed. I didn't follow you, I - " Stark’s crawling backward and away from him but Loki doesn't move himself.

He can't.

The jar isn’t open, Loki hasn’t exactly made any move toward it and yet just the _sight_ of it has erased any trace of a smile that had been on Stark’s face.

Chilli powder.

_Powder?_

How could they have even used something so common around here in such a way that it's made Stark associate it with punishment? What could they have even done with it to -

"Please - "

Loki clenches his fists, so tired of the fear and the begging - knocking the jar to the floor. He cannot continue to tiptoe like this and yet -

The jar clatters and smashes and Stark drops the flowers beside him to put his head in his hands, hunching over and waiting for the ‘’ strike. Loki reaches out and grabs him by both arms forcefully - emotion blurring in even him now - and Stark's ready for it. He knows what coming. He's prepared - no. He's _used_ to it.

Red lines Loki’s vision and the smile that had been in him before has vanished as well.

"I'm sorry. I don't - what did I do, what did - ? Tell me. I won't - " Loki tugs him forward and Stark makes a noise in the back of his throat, silencing himself at the non-verbal command. He squeezes his eyes shut, flinching as he braces. Loki can feel exactly when Stark grows entirely rigid and it's then that he pulls him closer. It's then that he wraps his arms around that trembling body.

Stark lets out a hiccuping noise of shock, still shaking. But when no beating nor punishment comes, he falls against the chest holding him, fingers coming up to curl in the shirt that’s still so drenched from the rain.

Loki's hair drips onto Stark's but neither of them care right now.

The chilli powder is vanished with a wave of Loki's hand and just as the thunder finally stops, he thinks that that's sobbing he can hear amongst it.

"Don't go." Stark begs of him. "Please don't go." Loki curls his arms in tighter, his chin tucked over Stark's head. He stares at the headboard of the bed, "I can't go back there. I _can't_. And - and if you _go_ , they'll come. I've - there's a tracker. They always find me. They found me before. I ran and they _caught_ me. I can't - I can never leave there. I'm theirs. I can't - please don't leave me here. Please. They'll _come for me_ \- !"

Loki holds him closer, one hand pressing Stark's face into his neck. His sobs send vibrations down his skin and Loki shuts his eyes whilst he continues to beg and cry. Letting him until he can finish.

“Please don’t go - ”

.

Stark quietens after almost half an hour and then chooses to lie limp against Loki. He still mumbles under his breath as he’s held, shaking and flushed, "They'll come. They always come ... "

Loki rocks backward and for the first time in three years, he wants so badly to speak with his Mother. He knows he can’t, but that doesn't stop him from thinking of it.

“They’ll find me.”

"They can try." He answers Stark's worries. "But I am not going anywhere."

"You're my enemy." Stark reminds him, softly, “Why - why aren’t you _killing_ me? I don’t - understand. It doesn't make - ”

"Right now, your captors are my enemy Stark. I have limits and they have all been met.” The rain is only a drizzle now and light from the sun peeks through to blinds to fall over them both, “I am not going anywhere."

"Please. Don't lie to me."

Loki shuts his eyes. "I'm not."

Stark looks up at him. "You did. Before."

Loki grits his teeth together for only a second, rocking again. "Then I am sorry for that. But I swear to you now, Stark. I am not leaving." He’s still lying. Damn him, he is, but he can’t stay.

Stark relaxes at the lie. Stark believes.

Loki feels like stomach is full of ice.

But he has to.

When Stark is with the Avengers once again, whether by his own choice or not, Loki will have to go.

He's sworn it and yet, holding the man in his arms and feeling him calm at the words, he can't bring himself to regret it. It worked, after all, didn't it.

He'll save regret for later.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I think most of you are right. There won't be just 5 chapters :/ 
> 
> Damn my mind.
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter isn't very good as well. It just wouldn't write :(


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is seriously a pain to write for because I'm always scared I'm going to disappoint you all. I've been sitting on this chapter for ages but I've decided to brave it and post now, finally. I apologize so so much for the extremely long wait! D:
> 
> .

* * *

 

_It hurts. Still, after everything he's been through, he can't even stop it from hurting. The pain itches just under his skin, the prickle of fire that they've burnt him with chafing every single limb. He lies on the ground, covered in nothing but filth, shivering and staring at walls that he's slowly come to know and recognize._

_His lip is still bleeding from the backhand that he'd gotten. His cheeks are torn, bruised from fists, and his hands are bound together with metal; he's curled them between his legs, feeling the warmth of blood slide over them as he struggles to breath properly past a raw and sore throat._

_The door opens behind him but he doesn't even tense anymore. He only closes his eyes._

_Footsteps approach him, step around him, and another one of the men crouches beside him. He's prodded, told to turn over, but he can't move. He swallows, and a drop of blood slides down from the corner of the mouth to drip onto his neck._

_A foot rolls him over and he doesn't even hiss out at the pain that causes. His hands are moved, lifted up, and the blood on them has dried now and sticks as he's bound all over again. His legs are spread, held apart, and tied._

_"... please." He's ignored. As always. "_ Don't. _"_

_The ropes are tightened. They dig into his wrists and into his ankles. He tries to hide his face but his cheeks still burn with pain from the beating and they sting when touching the ground. So he stares at the ceiling instead. Stares. And counts backward in his head._

_It's all he knows to do now. It's how he copes._

 

 

 

 

_**~** _

* * *

_**~** _

__

The window to the room is murky. Dark and covered in the grime of years gone by.

Loki stands beside it, looking out at the people walking just under the house - walking by to markets or to homes and relatives - driving or running or racing together as children. On the bed behind him, Stark lies curled under the single blanket, staring at his hands as they open and close beside his head - testing the new freedoms that he has; to be able to move whenever he pleases now.

The sun shines past the threaded curtains, hot and bright, while the honks of the cars outside drift over Loki's ears like nothing but background noise.

It's hard to tell whether Stark is dreaming or not. He doesn't move at all, nor speak, and the sound of his breath is slow - measured. His eyes are half open, staring at his hands, but that does not necessarily have to mean that he's awake.

Loki leaves him. If he dreams of his torture, and of his abuse, then there is nothing to do but to let it happen. To stop that dream will only ensure more to come later, _that_ he knows by fact.

" ... According to - books on Norse mythology ... you were tortured. Weren't you?"

Well. That answers the question of sleeping or not. Loki turns to look at him, but he's not moved - still staring at his hands, as though they hold secrets only he is privy to. "Yes." He answers anyhow, "What of it?"

And now. Stark looks at him. "How did you fight it? The ... feelings. That - that come after it?"

He hasn't.

Loki sits on the bed, looking down at Stark though keeping his face blank. While he'd be expecting to feel impatience at Stark, and at this situation, as he has been for so long, right now he feels nothing to contrast that. His mind is as blank as his face.

"Put a knife in me." Stark whispers to his hands, and as this is not the first time he has voiced that, Loki doesn't feel the same spike in his chest at the words, as he had the first time, "Shove it in. ... make it quick." Looking up at Loki, through lips that barely move as he speaks, he begs, "Please. Do it quick. Don't - don't let me dream again."

So he had been dreaming.

Dreaming of the many months under the hands of those that chose to treat him unworthy of being human.

Loki doesn't answer his request. He simply pulls the blanket higher over Stark's shoulders, and rubs at his own face; exhausted from the lack of sleep over these past days.

Two days after Stark had seen the powder, and not much else has happened since. Stark has stretched his legs by walking about the room but panics if there is even an implication that he must leave it. Loki has left him several times for other purposes, guilt-less at the hysteria that his abandonment has caused. Perhaps he has made it worse, not allowing Stark to cling to him for comfort, but really. It _is_ for the best.

If Loki becomes the only person that Stark will trust, then when the Avengers finally reclaim him, as he still believes they will, Loki will likely be attacked for 'brainwashing' their friend. Or whatever it is that they will think of, that they believe him capable of doing.

So, for now, it's best to think ahead when it comes to self-preservation and to ignore any itch of guilt that Stark's behavior gives him. In any case, the man is clearly getting better. It will be a while before he truly gains back the same confidence that he used to have, but at least he can have conversation.

Except. This type of conversation, is not exactly one Loki is fond of. Call it selfish, but he would rather the Avengers find him with their teammate kept safe, than dead at the hands of their former enemy; even if Stark had _asked_ for that fate.

"No." Stark closes his eyes, as though expecting that answer, "But I will not let you sleep any more than you need to, if that will console you enough." He takes in a slow breath, turning toward the window when it begins to rain again. Monsoon season, perhaps. Come already, or maybe the time has simply flown by for him. "You dream of it." It isn't a question and Stark doesn't answer. Not immediately, in any case.

"Not always. I - sometimes I see - before." Before. Loki looks down at him. He stares at his hands again, twitching the fingers as though playing an instrument that doesn't exist to anyone else's eyes, "I'm not your problem."

"No." Loki agrees.

"But you stay." A finger brushes his, pulls, and makes him look down at that instead of the brown eyes above it, "Why?" Before Loki can even open his mouth to answer, Stark continues over his thoughts, "And I - I want the truth. I don't want what you think I want to hear. Don't be the bad guy over this."

That burns. "I _am_ the ' _bad_ ' guy." Loki reminds him. Cold, blank. "That is who I am. And the only reason I have not killed you, even if it _will_ be mercy, is because I would like to live _myself_ once we are found. And that is all. There. Reason absolved and said truthfully. Are you happy?"

Stark looks at him, almost unafraid for once, though the flinch at Loki's outburst really takes that assumption away, "... thank you." The anger then, the bite of the insult, vanishes and Loki stands with a sigh - walking toward the window and resting his hands against it; staring out at every unique drop of rain that slides down it's surface. "If you want to leave here. Take me with you." Not this again. "But - but if you don't want to do _that_ as well. Then - then kill me." Loki sets his forehead against the glass. It's cool against his skin and that's comforting. "You want me dead anyway. It won't matter."

It does, though. Damn this all, it does, and he cannot stop himself from thinking that - no matter how much he agrees with Stark's words. He should do it. He should get a knife, should shove it in and _watch_ as the life bleeds out of Stark's eyes. He should. Should do it and run.

Hide the body, burn it even, get rid of all evidence, get rid of the blood. Stop the Avengers and his brother from finding him and seeing what he has done. Run from Heimdall's following gaze should his magic ever slip in cloaking him.

Stark is watching him when he finally turns to look at him again, curious and fearful. Thunder cracks above the house just as lightning lights the room and then the curtains are yanked shut and the lights switched on instead, "I am planning on leaving tomorrow. To travel from this country to another - I have not decided which yet, but I will." A slow nod of understanding. "I will disguise us both." Stark shifts at the word 'both', staring at him wide-eyed, "My magic is fully capable of doing that and whilst we travel, there is - " He stops at the hand that suddenly holds onto his, tight.

Stark is breathing heavily, looking up at him with his eyes wide in something other than fear for once. Gods, Loki hopes he isn't going to thank him again, "Why - ?" He stops, swallowing, thinking, and then miraculously smiling, "What's - green, big and - and scaly? With huge teeth and only one eye?"

What?

Loki frowns a little, confused and wondering briefly if Stark perhaps _is_ a little addled after all, but then - "A monster." Stark answers when he receives none, and Loki meets his eyes in a blink, holding the warm gaze. Stark smiles at him, softly. "Guess you don't fit the criteria."

There's a long pause between them and then Loki pulls away, standing, "When we are apart, you will think better on that." Stark simply drops his hand onto the bed again and slowly sits up.

"No one will recognize me in Cyprus." He tells Loki, "I've - never been a big hit there. PR failed and - and my name and face aren't so - well. You - we'll be okay there."

Yes. Except that Loki is _hoping_ someone will recognize him, so he can finally be rid of his traumatized baggage. Ignoring the spike of guilt in him at that, he only nods, "We shall see."

Stark nods in return, to his knees, curling up and picking at the threads on the blanket, "Is there any yogurt? My - throat hurts."

Asking for things now. Hm. Loki doesn't bother explaining why he's now stood and ignores how Stark's eyes follow his every step to the door, "We will need food when we travel, and this market will likely not have any of what you want, but - "

"It's late."

Loki pauses, looking at him, from the door, "Yes it is."

"I - don't go then. Last time you went out his late, you got h - "

"Oh, I am not planning on going alone."

Stark jerks back. "No."

" _Yes_. If you wish to come with me, then you must walk outside as well. Anyhow, coming along you may pick whatever you wish to eat as well, as you clearly hate my 'choices'." Stark frowns at him, slightly, and it's then that Loki realizes how he sounds. As though he is well-versed in all his mannerisms. "Walking, ah, should do you good as well and you will need to once we travel, so." He glares. "Get up." There's a pause at his words before, slowly, Stark's lips twitch up - similar to how they had been in that shower, before - and he shivers at the slight chill that settles in the room before Loki finally manages to control his mild anger once again; focusing in on _Stark's_ welfare now, and not his own _._

It's an odd feeling, actually. The last time that he had actually felt like this had been when Frigga had been at Odin's bedside back on Asgard, and he had bitten back more than a few angry remarks simply to spare her the heartache. The most selfless he has been in years, really, and what does that say for him.

"You can acquire anything you wish if you come long. It's better this way."

Without erasing his smile, Stark speaks up, "But I don't have any money."

What? Loki pauses, looking at him slowly, "You are one of the most wealthy men on this planet." He knows. He's heard more than once and seen for himself the power and wealth of Tony Stark.

Stark nods. More a twitch of the head, really, and fiddles with the buttons on the shirt he had picked out before, "I am. Was. If - all my money hasn't been donated by now. But I - I don't have any money on me now _."_ That makes no sense. If he is rich and recognized as such then what else would he need but his face? Both Loki and Thor bought things simply on face-value alone many a time on -

Ah. On Asgard.

Loki grits his teeth. Another reason to remember then, over how petty Midgard is and how dense when compared to him and his world. With an exaggeratedly exasperated sigh, Loki creates a wad of paper money in his left hand, just as he does every day, and throws it toward Stark on the bed. It hits his chest and falls to his lap when Stark flinches and sucks a breath in at the throw. An automatic reflex. Loki is not the first to throw something at him like that, then. Perfect. Another error of his and another thing to remember with Stark. At this rate he'll likely become a statue if only to resist any hysterical urges of fear that Stark may have from just his presence. "There. Now get up."

Stark actually gives him a little look of annoyance at both the treatment and the tone and Loki finds himself inwardly smiling at the little development in returning to character there has been; remaining as blank-faced and impatient on the outside, as usual, however. After all, _Stark_ does not need to know how far Loki is beginning to care over him right now. That is Loki's issue to deal with and once he discovers what has happened with the Avengers and has Stark back with them, he'll no longer have to think about it himself either.

Though he is still irritated over the obvious fact that Stark has not been wholly truthful with him. Or at least, has left things out. The story of what has happened to him is missing gaps. Clear-to-a-liar gaps. Being abused and used like this _can_ lead someone into submissiveness and fear but Stark has been frightened of loud noises as well as being left alone, and of the powder, _and_ \- Loki has recently discovered - of anything sharp or resembling a needle. Even electric appliances.

His mild stutter and immediate attachment to Loki - the only person that must have been even remotely kind to him at all this year - tells him that sex may not have been the only abuse that he has undergone and that while there _was_ sex involved, there must also have been nothing usual about it. He remembers the box in the whorehouse, the objects and the whips that he had seen. He imagines the pain, the humiliation.

_You can't breathe? Huh? I can't hear you. You might want to speak up -_

"Here." Loki says, softly now, his shoulders slowly lowering from the show of impatience and brief aggression that he'd felt before. He reaches into the cupboard and retrieves a shirt and trouser for Stark to wear. Along with a coat that is probably too small for Loki and yet still just a little big for Stark.

Loki helps him up and leaves him in the bathroom to change. It takes much longer than it should but he refuses to assist the man anymore than he needs to and resists the urge to smile when he sees that Stark's fingers disappear under the coat's sleeves when he finally stumbles out of the bathroom with it now on. Stark pats at the walls with the fur from the ends of it, clumsy and unbalanced until Loki finally gives him an arm to help him stand properly. It's mostly due to his loss of weight really, and his lack of nutrition, that everything that once would have been filled by him now hangs from his skin but Loki doesn't comment and instead pockets the wad of cash that he's made for himself and hands Stark his own one.

"Stay in my sight." He orders and instead of being insulted at the words, Stark leans against him gratefully - breathing slowly and steadily, to calm himself into stepping outside. More agreeable to this than Loki would have thought he would be. He slowly slides one foot before the other and, eventually, they even make it into the alley. Hallelujah.

But then they are immediately assaulted by the rain. Fate despises him.

Loki grows a little bored with how slow they must walk, however, but he knows that carrying Stark everywhere will hardly get him used to walking again. When they reach the market-place, though, Stark bites his lip at whatever pain walking must cause - rubbing the inside of his scarred thighs together - but he then walks alone and at a pace that is not exactly average but not as slow as he first had been. Good.

It must not have been so long ago that he had last walked alone then. He wonders if they had made him present himself that way, for buyers and for profit. He wonders if they had even made him dance. He knows that on Asgard, slaves were once made to -

"This way." Loki directs them both left, shaking his hair from the rain when they finally step beneath a tented stand and, in turn, shaking his less-than-helpful thoughts from his mind. "Stark, I will say this once, and once only," He's glanced up at, "If you wish to go back to the room, I will take you back _now_ , but not later." Looking away from him but still, clearly surprised at even being asked, Stark jerks his head to each side in answer 'no' and continues to walk. Determined, in his own way, to no longer have to rely on someone. And for it only having been little more than a week since Loki had found him, he can't help but admire him for that. "Very well, then."

They pass the food stands, and Loki takes whatever he already knows he likes. Stark eyes everything thoughtfully, starting at every shout from the sellers, backfire from a car nearby or the thrum of a motorbike, but calming faster than he has before. After almost fifteen minutes of not even picking at anything, he finally chooses an apple and pays for just the one; not allowing the seller’s hands to touch his as he hands the money over and Loki finds the offense on the man's face highly amusing.

There is no yogurt that any of them can see, but juice seems to help anyhow so Stark settles with that for his sore throat, ignoring the eyes on the both of them as they walk together. Loki knows what most of them think, knows of the laws in this country, but in the time that he has lived here people recognize him a little from the reputation that he has of fighting with their gangs. So no one says nor acts on it and they are left alone.

“Should we - do we need to get a map?” Stark asks him half an hour later, skimming his eyes hungrily over a stand of raw meat where a butcher is currently cutting into the hide of a particularly large animal. The smell is disgustingly horrendous but Stark doesn’t even seem to notice it.

“No. I can find my way.” He doesn’t cover his nose, not wanting to show how both the sight of the bloody meat and the smell is bothering him, but he refuses to move on before Stark does; not wanting to cause any suspicion in case Stark acts anything but normal at any impatience or anger on his part. Eventually, though, he _does_ grow impatient and pushes them on - slowing only when Stark cannot keep up on his still trembling legs. He clenches his fists when he feels himself subconsciously letting him catch up to his strides, annoyed at himself for coddling despite saying to himself countless times that he would not.

But this week with Stark - this so short, and yet so long, a week - that he's spent, has only taught him one, simple thing. That no matter how angry or scornful he can be with himself or with Stark’s behavior, anything that he tells himself to do to make up for it and to act like himself again, will only be ignored. Largely by _himself_.

Mainly, however, because whenever he closes his eyes, he is once again haunted by the image of those women, back on Asgard, and the tears and the wounds on their face and bodies. Only now, the images are all mixed with those of Stark, and he cannot help but _try_ and find his peace with that crime by at least being just a little kind.

By being just a little … human.

Thinking on supplies then, Loki buys more than enough food to last, knowing that he can always use his magic if and when anything runs out on the way or if he has forgotten something. Living here these past three years, he has gotten used to the mannerisms and thinking of mortals and has grown accustomed to copying it to get by. It works, so why not.

The thunder that has cracked open the sky this whole past week has now, finally, died down and there doesn't seem to be any more signs of rain now, but still, Loki cannot help but continue to look up at the sky for any of those dark clouds that might still linger.

An older gentleman says something to Stark as he passes, pulling Loki back to reality, but it's said in a language that he clearly does not understand. Loki doesn't translate and simply moves them on and eventually there is nothing else for either of them to look at or to buy before -

"Clothes." Stark speaks up, looking up at him, his eyes now the only color on him as his ill-fitted clothes are covered with the dust that he had kicked up from the road, "I need - " He looks down at himself, "Ones that fit?"

"Then get some."

He earns a look, and that makes him smile. Not even inwardly this time, what is wrong with him. "Where from?" Clearly exhausted from the walking that they have already done, Stark's cheeks are flushed pink and his legs shake even more than they had before. But he still holds himself up. Going outside has clearly been good for him.

Taking him by the elbow, Loki directs him toward a sheltered stand where clothes are either piled and folded atop each other or lain out on a table to show their length and beauty. "There." Stark looks over them all critically from where he stands and Loki scowls when he realizes that he has been smiling at that simple look from before, for too long.

Taking a step toward the stand, Loki pulls Stark along with the grip still on his elbow, but around the corner a group of men come bustling around together. Stark flinches beside him, pressing against Loki's side as more of them follow - hooting and laughing and throwing colored powder over each other with playful shouts of pretend insults. Some sort of celebration, then. Loki watches them with a raised eyebrow, annoyed that they have now blocked his way, and he glares at any that collide into him before noticing that his hand is no longer gripping onto an elbow.

And that his side no longer has a body pressed against it for protection. Damn.

Stuck in the middle of the crowd of men, he looks around quickly, twisting on the balls of his feet in each direction as he cranes his head over heads to search for his charge, but in the midst of all this commotion, there's no one small enough nor still enough to be him.

How could someone so slow disappear so quickly?

"Stark? He calls out into the noise but his voice is lost, "Stark!" The men finally move on but there is nothing left there besides the stands and the other shoppers. Laughter fills the air, contrasting heavily with what he feels. "Where - ?"

Standing there, lost for a moment, he looks around still, almost frantic, " _Stark_!" Before realizing -

He's gone.

Disappeared.

No longer his responsibility. No longer his to coddle. Gone. Ha. Good.Another can find him now, can try and help him. He's gone.

At last.

 

 

 

 

 

_**~** _

* * *

__

_**~** _

__

_You never forget your first time, baby. You'll feel this forever. Trust me. You'll remember it._

_.  
_

The alley is dark. The sun setting, people returning home, and everything around him is still damp from the rain. Tony holds himself, crouched on the floor, breathing quick and shallow, staring at nothing and picking at the scar of a taser's burn on his forearm. People pass him by but no one pays much attention. He's not worth it. A man with a monkey on his arm asks for money and even though he has plenty, Tony only stares at the ground until he moves on by.

His arm is still sore from being wrenched out of Loki's grip by the crowd, and he rubs at it slowly, shaking from the cold washing over him now that the heat of the day is starting to fade away.

Counting backward in his head, he freezes at every sound. Sure that they've found him. Sure that he's going back to that place, going back to where they did those _things_ to him. They always find him, always. He was stupid to think that he's free.

No.

Loki'll come for him. Loki _promised_. He's been helping him. He saved him. He'll come.

People walk through the alley just before him, and he shrinks back, lowering his head, not letting them see his face in case they recognize it.

They won't. He doesn't recognize himself. This isn't him. He doesn't cower in corners. Except. Except he does now. Hiding in corners has protected him for so long. Sometimes they can't be bothered to drag him out if he hides. They don't want to waste time looking.

But sometimes it makes it worse. Sometimes they get angrier if he hides. It hurts more then.

He can't go back there. He can't. Loki will come for him. Loki's the only one who's come for him. Loki will. He will. He's free now. He's not going back.

Loki will come. He'll come before it's too dark, he knows the dark is worse than light. He'll come.

He swore he would.

 

 

 

 

**_~_ **

****

* * *

****

**_~_ **

****

The room is empty when he finally gets back, which means that Stark really is still out there. Alone.

Ah well. Loki shrugs the coat off, intent on leaving tomorrow on his own now, free from the burden of Stark and his captors trail. Easier to hide, if you are alone. Easier to travel, to run. So much easier. All of it. Easy.

Tapping a beat against the wardrobe with his forefinger he stares at the handle for the better part of a minute before finally yanking it open and throwing the coat inside. He catches sight of the clothes that Stark had been wearing before and his mind decides to pretend that they are drenched with blood.

He shoves the door shut and reaches into the bags that he'd brought before to find something to eat. Stark's fruit rolls out of it. Pausing for a moment, he looks down at the apples and mangoes, before flinging one of them at the door. Feeling marginally better, he sits down and peels one of the mangoes to eat.

It's quiet.

He sucks juice from his fingers, looking around the room and seeing nothing else to do to spend the time until the next dawn. He can always use his magic, he supposes, but he has already used so much this week. It's exhausted him in more ways than one and he will need it more when traveling. No. Best to save it, Stark may need -

His hand clenches around the mango. Damn this. Guilt is not an emotion that he holds. Not ever. And if -

 _I swear to you now, Stark. I am not leaving_.

His hand buries itself into the plaster of the wall beside him and he curses every name that he knows and remembers from Asgard; starting with Odin's. Leaving the coat this time, he walks out of the room and slams the door, hard, behind him - anger like nothing else thrumming inside him.

Damn you, Stark. Damn you.

 

 

 

 

**_~_ **

* * *

****

**_~_ **

The streets are empty now, as are the roads, so it doesn't take long to find him really, and that's almost a shame - he would have liked to have at least justified an excuse to leave him behind. As it is however, when he does find him (huddled away in an alley with his arms over his head) any need to do that vanishes in the same wave of emotion that he had felt the first time he had set foot in the whorehouse.

He stands there for a moment, knowing that Stark has not seen him there yet, and that he can still leave him behind and travel alone, but then he crouches down slowly and murmurs his name, and then it's too late for that, "Stark?"

The hand that he places on a shoulder is typically flinched away and Loki shuffles back on his heels, looking down at him and waiting to see whatever reaction he gains afterward and what he -

_Slam._

His left foot slips over the wet ground when he staggers at the backhand that Stark deals out across his face. What - ? He catches the wrist that dealt it immediately, only a little delayed in his sheer _shock_ at the sudden violence in a man that has been no more harmless than a small and frightened kitten. But before he can even express his anger at the strike, Stark whispers his own accusation first, "You _left_ \- "

Loki presses his lips together. Well. It appears guilt _is_ something he can feel, then.

"Yes."

Releasing his hand, Loki lets Stark wrench it back before his fingers have fully uncurled from around his wrist, and simply looks at him. Looks while his brief charge pants on his knees, crouched on dusty and muddy ground. "You _left_." Quieter now, he moves back, staring at Loki with a mixture of hurt and anger. Fear seems to be nonexistent now.

Unsure of just what to say, Loki lands on the simple truth. "I know."

Chest heaving as he struggles to calm down, Stark blinks at him, slowly, deliberately, "You aren't - aren't even going to apologize?" Loki doesn't answer. "You promised. You _swore_ you wouldn't leave."

Oh please. "Then the fool here, is you, isn't it. I am the God of _Lies_ , Stark," Loki reminds him, irritated and reaching over to help pull him to his feet, "The truth is only something that I -" Stark jerks back and his back hits the wall behind with a slap.

"The truth is something that I gave to _you_." The brown of his eyes are wide, dark and shimmering. Unshed tears Loki realizes a second later. Hurt. "I told you what happened to me. And y - you've killed people. You tried to take over - over my _whole world_ and I told you things I would never tell anyone else. People I trust, and I - I - I - " Sliding back, Stark presses a hand to his throat and the next second he turns his head to the side and vomits over the ground from how distressed he has made himself feel. "God - "

Loki reaches for him again, if only to get them both back inside and warm, but Stark flinches back again, "No - don't touch me."

Oh for - ! "If you wish to stay here, Stark, then _stay_." He hisses then, anger building inside him at the sheer ungratefulness, "I did not have to return for you, did I. I could have left. I have my own freedom to worry over and every _day_ I have with you only jeopardizes my chance at - "

"Then I'm sorry." Tears fall now and pride doesn't seem to be something Stark cares about anymore, "But I didn't ask you to rescue me. I didn't _ask_ you to be so kind to me. Kinder than I thought you could ever - you could _ever_ be." Swallowing Stark lowers his voice to something both bitter and soft. "You did that yourself.

Sighing, Loki sits further back on his heels, ignoring the damp of the previous rain that soaks his trousers completely, "Why are you so angry Stark? Hm? Get up and come with me."

He doesn't move. "I thought they would come. I thought they'd get me again, I thought - I thought you'd been planning this the whole time, I - I didn't know what to think. You just - you _left_." He picks at the scar again, scratching at it. Loki follows it with his eyes, knows Stark's agitated behavior is more down to the trauma his captors have left him with, than the mere abandonment for one day. Even so, he has clearly set things back by a mile, simply by being selfish.

As usual.

And for some reason, he actually finds that being _wrong_. Gods, he's becoming moral. This is ridiculous. "Come on Stark. Get up." His command is not scorned but neither is it followed. Eventually, however, Stark does get to his feet. With no help.

"You aren't ever allowed to lie to me again." Well. Perhaps they have _not_ set things back so far then. It's just such a shame that he chooses those to be his first words of confidence. Because _how dare he._

The anger, still festering under his skin, comes out all over again and Loki glares at him; dark. "And who are you to tell me not to?" He demands, blocking Stark's way and looming over him in a way that if he were not as angry with himself and with Stark right now, he would think better on. As it is, he doesn't even notice how Stark practically stops breathing at that and digs his nails into his sides, holding himself tighter, " _Hm_?" Leaning closer, Loki lowers his voice into something almost akin to disgust, if only to push his point, "You, who I found _whimpering_ in a bed, and letting men crawl all over you. You think you can demand things of me? I _saved_ you, Stark. And for all the new rules of your life here, I should practically _own_ you as mine. I paid in blood, after all." Rocks clack together as Stark takes a step back, staring up at him.

"That's no - "

"And now, you sit here, alone in an alley. Afraid of your captors finding you again and yet you stay out in the open, hoping that some stranger comes to either help you or to take you into their bed as well. Because that is all there is to you now. _Isn't it_. To be either _used_ or saved. And as my choice became saving you, then perhaps I should do the former as a simple _reward_ for all of my troubles with your - "

" _No_!" Stark bolts.

He turns on his heels, shoes too big for him flapping under his bare feet, as he runs away as fast as he can with bruised and aching legs.

Loki stands still for just a second, staring at him, until he turns a corner and disappears and that spurs him on. Swearing sharply in Asgardian, he runs after him, self-loathing like nothing he has ever felt filling every vein of his body until his skin is flushed from the guilt of what he has just said. Anger is no excuse. This is not something to use as a threat, he knows that. He knows _better_ than that.

Everything he hates, and his ever-consuming anger still turns him into what he calls **monsters**.

"Stark!" He rounds the same corner, shoving aside some wandering homeless man as he runs past, until he can see the color of Stark's shirt against the brown of the road ahead. He's still running. _Faen_.

What has he done.

Mostly human as he is now, it's only a little while after that he begins to feel the strain on his legs at running so fast to try and catch up, but he's allowed to stop anyhow - because as soon as he turns another corner, he sees Stark there. Standing. Frozen. Staring up at the whorehouse that Loki had found him in before.

Now smouldered to the ground, covered with plastic tape to warn civilians off of the structure, the fire that had consumed it is still all that Loki can see. He wonders if the bodies are still inside. He wonders why Stark came back here, if he even meant to.

"Stark?" He steps toward him slowly, "Is this not - ?"

"You did kill them, then." It's whispered. In shock almost. Turning to look at him, Stark wipes at his face, his lips a little apart and wet with tears that have already fallen, "All of them?"

Loki doesn't answer immediately. "All that lived here." He finally murmurs, soft to make up for his outburst. All that lived here. But not those that had began this. Not those that took you away, first. "You came here to see if I told you the truth?"

"I gave you a deal before." It's not an answer to his question, and right now, he's actually preferring the Stark from a few days ago, who would apologize at every misguided insult at every second of the day, "That you can - kill me. Or - or whatever. But _not_ rape - I - I _said_ not rape. Anything you could do, you said you wouldn't - "

Of all things, Agent Romanov's words suddenly echo in his mind and he shuts his eyes at the recollection: _You're a monster_. Pretend it may have been, her assumption was clearly so very correct. As was Odin's, and Midgard's; even the dear Warrior's Three. He is.

"I'm sorry." Backing away from him, Stark either doesn't hear him or doesn't believe. "I could never. Not would Stark, do you understand? _Could_. I could never do that to another, not even if threatened to, and I would never try with you. I swear it. Any threat that I give to you, you take it. But _this_ , what I said, was only one born of anger. I swear it."

Stark looks at him, wipes at his face again and then turns away. His hands are shaking and a cut on his wrist suggests he had fallen at least once when running here. Fallen and yet continued to run in his fear of what Loki had threatened. "Did you - ?" Clogged with tears, he voice sounds muffled, but he continues anyway and the moon shines light on them both to shed a little more light, "Did you know that - I was a birthday present once?" He sucks in a quick breath, swallowing, "They made me sing 'happy birthday'. With a - with a knife in my mouth. And when I couldn't do it, they - " He shuts his eyes, clenching his hands, "I hate it. I hate these memories and I hate feeling the way I _feel_ , all the time. I hate it so much. And I just - I just want it to go _away_." He takes a step toward him. "Stab me. Please."

"No."

"Why _not_? Because the Avengers will kill you, if you do?" Fear vanishes. Anger takes over. Pain. Loki doesn't do much but watch. This is his fault. This anger. "They don't _care_ about me, don't you get that yet? I _killed_ people. Okay. That was the - the big secret. I - I _killed_ \- " Staggering back Stark shakes uncontrollably, quietening only a little, "One thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight people. They're all dead. Because of _me_." He remembers the number, after all this time. This had hurt him, then. Badly. "They won't care. They left me to these men before and they'll do it again if they get me back. Just - just _kill_ me. _Please_. Like you _said_ \- all I'm here for now is to be abused or - or saved. So _save_ me." He's sobbing now, red-faced and narrow-eyed, breath sounding too harsh to be anything but painful, " _Kill_ me. I can't be abused again. I can't." He falls to his knees, "I can't, I _can't_. Please. I can't go back there. Not now I've gotten out. I can't."

These men need to die. And he _will_ kill them. He will.

Loki looks to the sky, shutting his eyes against the chill of the wind and digging his nails into his own palm. Give him torture. Send him screaming to have venom dripped into his eyes. Anything. Just send him something else. Anything where the pain that he feels is something that he can _control_. That he can manifest, can _use_. Anything - but this. For this. This is just -

"... Stark." He takes another step forward, his eyes as solemn as he feels and never has he felt so naked in that. "Look at me." He does. Shaking still, but his eyes are now dull and dry. Dull with the realization that Loki will not grant his wish. "I swore it, did I not? I swore that you are _not_ ever going back to those - " A high-pitched beep sounds to his left and that is the only warning he gets before everything explodes. " _Mov_ \- !" Everything is suddenly far too _hot_ and there's metal and wood, and Stark _screams_ just before him, but he cannot even see him, cannot hear anything but the rush of his own ears, and only when he lands face-first over the ground does he realize that he had been flying backward in the first place.

"Dugh - " Pain radiates over his body and he can actually smell his own burnt flesh, which is something that he would rather not ever have to smell again. Stark cries out again it echoes around him. With effort, Loki turns his his face around to find him but every sound is as warped as his vision and all he sees is the blur of color that is Stark's shirt being dragged backward. Dragged by two other much darker shapes.

_They always find me._

"No - " It comes out a rasp, and he rolls to his side, blinking hard until he can see again - heart in his throat as he struggles to his feet. A shard of metal sticks out of his ankle and every breath shudders in his chest from the pain that it causes him but he runs anyway. The gun's hilt that hits the back of his head knocks him down and he lands on his hands, the metal embedding itself in deeper until he has to swallow back a scream from the agony it creates for him.

"N - !" Stark is thrown down before him, their heads knocking together, and the look in his eyes is so much more haunting than anything Loki thought is possible. This is happening so fast. This is them. Their voices led them here. Gods, this is his fault. He can admit that, he - "Take a good look Stark." A man orders. Masked, tall, American-accented, with uncovered hands that are tanned, bronzed. A man who lives by the sea, then - where the sun burns warmer than any other country. Loki burns his gaze into him; calling to his magic but in his pain it cannot rise fast enough. The man grabs Stark by the hair, tugging his face up until he has no choice but to look at Loki. "Look at your fucking savior and _see_ what happens when people get involved with scum like you." Stark makes a noise, like he's choking on his own tongue, "We told you, didn't we. We told you that there's nowhere you can hide. And now look what you're going to make us do." Nodding at the man behind him, Loki assumes they mean to kill him, and the most poetic part of it is that they may actually succeed.

He cannot move without only falling all over again and there is nowhere for him to run that's not currently covered with fire or blocked by these men. And, mostly mortal now, only one gunshot wound would likely end him if shot correctly. It's almost a frightening thought, were he not worrying for another right now. And isn't that new.

Stark must realize too that they both have no escape, for his eyes become duller than they have ever been before. He knows that this is it for him. And every expression on his face drips off of it as he looks at Loki, not making another sound; not even when his hair is gripped much tighter and strands are yanked out of his scalp to lift his head higher. " _Look._ then."

"I am looking, Marcus." Stark murmurs, his voice dead, and at the sound of his name Marcus drops his head immediately with a curse, only to reach behind for a prod of some sort. Loki tenses, watching as it's pressed into Stark's neck with a viciously fast shove, and when Marcus switches a button Stark convulses horribly on the floor; his mouth pressed shut to muffle his scream as his entire body shudders and squirms. Another area of his neck is attacked and this time, he has no choice but to open his mouth; his pained yell echoes into the night and Loki curls his hands into fists over the ground.

"No _names_ , remember."

Sucking in a breath when the electrocuting stops, Stark looks at Loki, and begs him with his eyes.

_I can't go back there. I can't._

What did they do to him. What is he so _afraid_ of.

Images fly in his mind and just like that, at what his imagination conjures up, the pain that is still thrumming all over his body vanishes to the back of his mind as he regains himself. Loki lunges to his feet, the gun that he hadn't even known was aimed at him is knocked out of an assailant's hands with his head, and he slams into the men behind him. Marcus, holding Stark down, then hauls him up by his waist and drags him backward, pulling him even as he struggles. "Kill him!" He yells at his men and shots are fired from all directions at Loki.

"No! _Loki - !_ "

There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, but the magic building in his hands has finally pulled itself up and will be better than anything else anyway. He forms a half shield quickly, running toward Stark only to stumble to his knees when the metal is his ankle burns and sears over his skin. He's healing already, painfully so, but _with_ it still inside him.

" _No_!" Snapping his head up, he manages to catch a glance at Stark pushing against an arm that now at his throat and shoving himself forward until he actually manages to get free, "6-5-8-0! Loki! You need to know, you - 6-5-8-0, it's - _ah_!" He's grabbed by his waist and shoved - pushed to the ground and pulled backward by his ankles. Blood covers his nails when he tries desperately to hold onto something. "N - _Quelqu'un m'aider_! _**Quel**_ \- !" Another man comes over to help, casual in a manner that sends bile sliding up into Loki's throat, and Stark is taken away by the both of them.

No. Not now. Not after all that he has done. All that he has risked.

Loki pushes himself to his feet, pulling the metal out with an ugly sounding yell from behind gritted teeth, and limping as fast as he can toward them.

Another beep sounds before he can get there, however, and he freezes - turning and shielding his face with his arms; just in time. Fire envelops him and he ducks at the explosion, flying backward for a second time and landing over a table left over from the market. Civilians, those that are now awake, run screaming to or from the wreckage and in the midst of it all, Loki still hears Stark's pleas.

" _Please_ \- I'll do what you want, I won't tell anyone about it, I won't - just _please_ \- !" The sound of electricity zapping follows and another scream, mixed in with others now, is the last thing Loki hears properly before there is then noting from Stark at all.

He lies there, on the table, staring up at the sky as he struggles to breathe past the pain and the burns. He swallows with effort, his mouth sealed shut, melted together, and his hands shake over his chest, scorched and torn.

A dark shape covers his vision, a hand feeling for his pulse and he struggles to fight back.

Stark. He's gone. Again. Only this time, not free, but captured. So afraid, Loki hadn't thought it possible for anyone to be so frightened. Especially not a man like Stark.

He has failed.

The one. The _one_ , and only, time that he has tried to do right by a victim of this and he has failed. Completely.

And that's bad. Years of struggling to find the line between good and bad, but this he knows.

It's bad.

He can't breath properly.

The shape above him moves again and shouts something to someone on the right. Hands lift him up, but all he sees is darkness and fire.

And all he hears is Stark's voice.

 _" 6-5-8-0! You need to know - 6-5-8-0!_ "

6-5-8-0.

He will find him. And he _will_ kill those that took him. He will.

6-5-8-0 is the answer. Somehow.

* * *

6-5-8-0.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!!! D:

* * *

.

Loki wakes to the clinical smell of a hospital.

Not unlike one that he had been in before, actually, the first year that he had fallen to Earth after his escape, wounded and broken - practically crawling until someone had eventually found him by the side of a road. He'd healed, in time, and had wiped the memory of anyone who had seen him here; running from the west should any 'heroes' try to find him.

But this time, whatever had happened to him now is obviously taking a lot longer to heal. Or else he wouldn't have been unconscious for so long. He moans when light pricks through his still-closed eyes, shifting under the thin blanket and wincing from every spike of pain that rockets up his spine and chest. Oh yes. The fire. Well that explains a lot, then - burns are much harder to heal, even _before_ his mortality had been significantly decreased. Wonderful.

He tries to sit up then, wanting to survey the damage and see how far he had left to heal before he can actually get up and leave here -

 _6-5-8-0_.

He grits his teeth, annoyance at his limp body overcoming any pain when it refuses to respond to his needs, and it's then that he realizes that it isn't actually _him_ that's restricting himself. Snapping his eyes open, he stares up at the ceiling, twisting his wrists around from where they lie beside him to manage a feel of the straps holding them down. Similar buckles are wrapped around his waist too, and his ankles are bare and bound as well.

Damn.

SHIELD, then - Oh, of _all_ the people and of all the places, why _now?_

He shakes in his binds, furiously trying to snap them as he lies over the bed, knowing full well that years ago it would have been so easily done. But SHIELD is not only compensating for a God's strength now - they're compensating for his _magic_ as well. The binds are stronger than him, in more ways that one, and he doesn't even have to _ask_ to know who it was that had made them this way, that had caused them to filter in his magic and halt it's passage through him.

 _Stark_.

It has to have been him and how ironic now, to have it be his creation stopping Loki from trying to find him and -

A door opens to his left, silent besides for the rush of air that it lets inside, and he immediately turns his head toward it - narrowing his eyes at the man that steps into the enclosed room he's been placed in. Quietly. Turning only to shut the door behind him until it clicks locked itself. No one else enters after him and there are no other heads peeking in through the only window, just as there had been during his imprisonment on the helicarrier before; curiosity always winning out over obedience, as usual.

A chair is pulled up and the man sits over it, his legs drawn in tight in a bodily betrayal to show how tense he is, "So you _are_ healing then." Is his greeting, "I wasn't so sure, last time I saw you." Loki just looks at him, keeping his lips pressed together and his eyes glazed. Perhaps if he looks and acts unfocused enough, he'll be given an opportunity to get out of here. It usually works. "And believe me, you were in pretty bad shape when I first found you."

Right. Loki blinks slowly, not exactly giving anything away, but his brief plan to remain unfocused ends there, " _You_ found me?" And then, because he doesn't even know if he's still in Egypt, he asks, "Found me where?"

The man leans back, looking at him with undisguised rage. The uniform that he wears, dark blue in color, is heavily decorated with it's medals and badges shining, but the face of it's wearer is dark and _hard_ in contrast. Whoever this man is, he clearly wants to kill him. "Found you lying on a car roof." He answers, eventually, and that at least explains exactly when he had taken Loki here. Immediately after the explosion. "Thought you were dead, at first, from the look of you. But, _evidently_ , bastards like you just keep coming back, don't you." Loki raises an eyebrow, but he's only met with a twin from his questioner. Belatedly, he wonders where Nick Fury is - after all this time, he really thought that it would likely be him that would eventually find him, and not just some ordinary _soldier_. "So what happened? You didn't judge the blast right, or something? Thought you had enough time to make a run for it but the fire caught you up, anyway?"

He hasn't time for this. "If you are as trained as many of you are _supposed_ to be, then you should have found that that blast was not made by anything that _I_ possess."

"I'm not SHIELD trained." Is the clipped answer, and _that_ makes Loki pause. Not SHIELD? Then where is he? "And really, you're _lucky_ I'm not." He stands now, walking around the bed to pour from a jug, drinking the water down in one gulp, before pouring another pint into a separate glass; still speaking, vaguely, as he does, "I only took you here because it was easier to make sure you couldn't leave, but SHIELD doesn't know who you are. You were so banged up when I brought you in, they couldn't even recognize you and this is only a mini-base too, so no one could properly _check_ it either." He sits again, placing the glass beside Loki on a table's surface before leaning closer, "All they know is that you're _dangerous_ , and that seemed to be good enough."

Loki smiles at him, trying to lift his hands to make a point, "Then what are these?"

" _Those_ are courtesy of a friend of mine. I carry a pair around with me now, since I started working for the Avengers as well, making up for a lost _teammate_ whenever they need it." Stark. Something must have shown on his face because the man's face darkens, "Thought you'd know something about that. You murdering _son of a bitch!_ "

Loki opens his mouth to coolly interrupt this new rage, but a sudden punch knocks his head back over the pillows and he only ends up blinking up in surprise. It doesn't hurt, not really, but the second one - the one with a bit more force and a bit more _anger_ in it - does.

"Where is he?" The man demands now, glaring darkly into Loki's eyes, before punching him again. And again. It turns Loki's head to the side, pain from the burns adding to the bruises that he's giving him, and he can't even move his arms to push him back, bound as they are, "Whatever the hell it is you've been doing to him, I swear I'll find out and I'll _kill_ you for it, I swear to God, I'll - "

"Never - " Loki grits out, finishing his sentence for him and darting his head back to avoid another blow, " _Find_ him, if you do." The man freezes tellingly, fist held high for another strike, "Though I sincerely hope you do."

He's hit again before the hand drops and his vision is then obscured in a way that is probably meant to be intimidating, "What'd you do to him? _Tell me._ Tell me where he is _."_ Lights flash in the corner of Loki's eye, the effect of his healing now slowing thanks to the new wounds that he's been given, but as they're probably only minor bruises, he's sure he'll live. As a result, however, the unfocused self that he had been pretending to be before is now very real and he shuts his eyes against the questions. "Tell me!"

Loki smiles again, softer now, the burns over his skin itching from the air filtered into the room and he feels almost nauseous from the pain of it. He wants his magic. _Needs_ it. "... he thought no one was looking for him." His eyes slide shut before he even knows that he's spoken.

"Where is he?" The man asks again, quieter now but still brimming with this so clearly-protective anger that he has, "Just - " He sighs, trying to rein in his aggression, "Look. Tell me where he is and I'll - God, I don't know, I'll let you go. SHIELD has no idea that you're here, it'd be easy for me to sneak you out. But _only_ if you tell me - "

" _6-5-8-0_." Loki slurs, opening his eyes just a little now.

The man frowns. "What?"

" _That_ \- is how you will find him. _6-5-8-0_." There's a moment of silence but he doesn't believe for a second that those numbers are even actually being considered. And then he's punched again. He grunts, his head spinning, and blood actually sitting on his tongue from where he must have bitten it. This is getting serious, he's not had time to heal from anything much recently, and it's taking it's toll now. "Punch me again ... and I won't be able to speak." He warns.

His answer is only a scoff, "Yeah right. Tony told me about you, after your _invasion_. You can take on a lot and come out alive."

"Not," Loki says slowly, lifting his head to give himself a better view of his questioner. Tony, he'd said. As though they're friends. Hm. " _An_ _ymore_."

"Is that why you needed him?" He's asked then, the bitterness in the question betraying the disgust this man obviously feels for him, "You wanted to hurt someone to make you feel powerful again?"

 _Oh for_ \- "Rather than _wasting_ so much time with this, why don't you run along and find out what those numbers mean instead? I have been asleep for too long, so before you kill me, let us first find out where he actually _is_ , shall we." It's probably his tone that does it, but the man pauses just long enough for him to continue this time, "Whatever you've been told of me, while most of it is probably true, I had nothing to do with Stark's disappearance. _That_ \- I can promise."

"Yeah?" There's a rustle as the man reaches into his pocket, tugging out a folded slip of paper that he yanks open and slaps onto the table. A picture. A picture of Stark and him at the marketplace, after dark; they're arguing.

_Perhaps I should do the former as a simple _reward_ for all of my troubles with your -_

_No!_

"Then explain _that_."

Loki lowers his eyes, looking down at the picture and biting hard on the inside of his bottom lip; memories flying through his mind that hurt more than they should.

_I can't go back there. I can't._

_No!_ Loki!

_6-5-8-0! Loki! You need to know, you - 6-5-8-0 **- _!  
_**_

"Hey! I'm _talking_ at you!" Loki looks up from the picture, meeting his gaze.

Whatever snide comment that springs to mind at first is smothered down, and he swallows past a tight throat, the hatred that he had felt for himself all those times he had helped Stark all but gone now; replaced with the vow that he had made to himself before he'd slept.

"One thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight." He murmurs to himself, remembering the number as though it was himself that had killed those people.

The man freezes, staring at him, "What did you say?"

Loki looks up slowly, sighing, but he does repeat himself. More of his own benefit really, as he thinks on the subject, "One thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight people. Killed."

The room envelops into silence for a good long while, before the picture is snatched up, "How'd you know that number?"

"Your friend told me."

"Tony _wouldn't_. He was a - he wouldn't. You're lying, how did you get him to tell you that?"

"He told me when he _begged_ me to kill him." A hand rises to hit him again so he speaks faster, "He didn't want to remember anymore. But I refused."

"Remember _what?_ What did - ?"

"Whatever _6-5-8-0_ means, I assume." There's another pause and he groans, turning his head to glare up at the ceiling, "Do you really want to waste more time? I do not know where Stark is, not now, though I _did_. That picture is not what it looks like, but believe what you will. Only if you release me first."

"You must think I'm _insane_ enough to listen to you."

"You must be, to have continued _looking_ for a man gone as long as he has been. And if you've come this far, do you _really_ want to find him _dead_?" Shifting in his binds, Loki bucks his body up to lean on his hip and face his questioner properly, "Time is ticking, mortal. And I don't believe he has much left."

He's stared at, the man breathing heavily as he thinks and considers all that Loki's said. He probably still thinks he's the enemy, but right now, Loki is the only one who can help him find his friend, and if he's been searching for this long, then he's loyal enough to break the rules for it as well. He should be.

The chair squeaks as the man stands then - unexpectedly - and he leaves without even a single glance back. Loki watches him go, frowning, and when the door shuts he renews his attempts to slip his hands out of their binds in his surprise.

Not so loyal then. Damn.

When had _he_ become such a bad judge of character?

.

* * *

.

The day passes by as he continues to struggle and his wounds still itch over his skin, flaring at any change in temperature. They _are_ healing, though, thankfully - he just needs a little more time, is all. No one enters after the soldier had and the water left beside him teases constantly. He can last a lot longer without it, though, so he merely refrains from _looking_ and focuses on trying to get out more. He sleeps as well, eventually, and dreams of each various event that mingles through his mind in torn, broken memories.

Tears, blood, the explosion that had thrown him backward, Stark's face as he'd been dragged away and the very first time that he had found him here. In that whorehouse.

_How do you ... want me?_

Time ticks by and he sags in the bed, weak from blood-loss, pain overcoming everything and thirst becoming a problem for after the first few days stuck here. And still.

No one enters the room.

 

**_~_ **

 

* * *

 

**_~_ **

 

"Hey. Hey, you. Wake up."

His binds are tugged at, unbuckling, and he stirs immediately - yanking back as soon as he's free and sitting up fast enough to startle whoever it is releasing him. The soldier, again. Returned.

" _You_." Loki cracks his neck, stretching now that he can finally sit again, "I thought that you'd left me here to _rot_." He then mutters, shaking out his arms, each limb aching as one. Clothes are thrown at his face when he turns and he jerks back, grabbing them and glaring in retaliation, a little too muddled to do anything else.

"Believe me, I wanted to." Loki stands, the blanket sliding off of him to reveal his naked body and, though he clearly wants to, the soldier refuses to turn his back on him. Smart. "But unfortunately. Or, fortunately for _you_. I can't."

Loki hides the way that his muscles twitch abnormally, not quite to full strength just yet. That blast had taken more out of him that he thought, especially when another had hit him only moments afterward as well. Had he been in worse condition that he had been then, he would probably not even be _alive_ at all right now. Time is needed for these things, and more time is needed now that Idunn's apples are no longer an option. Nor his magic to heal, with him so wounded.

"And why is that?"

Shoes are thrown onto the bed now, bundled socks within them. "Because you're the last person who saw Tony. You know more about what happened to him than I do, which means I need _you_ to find him."

"I gather you believe me now, then."

"Yeah," The man scoffs, "Not a chance." _Hm._ "I just haven't really got any other choice." Well that  _is_ comforting. He _can_ still tell character, then - after all this time. "Not if I want to find Tony alive." Loki looks at him whilst slipping his feet into the shoes, reaching for the water to finally quench his nagging thirst. The way that he speaks ... a friend that he _must_ be to Stark, but to have _this_ much loyalty? It's practically similar to the loyalty that an army shows to it's King.

Infallible.

Unwavering.

Almost admirable, if it was not such a weakness to have.

Loki moves to stand, but before he can the man suddenly grabs at his arm, digging into it a miniature device that _stings_ on it's way inside. Loki doesn't quite manage to move himself back in time but when he does, he snarls out his anger at that indecency, grabbing him by the throat in a hold that could easily suffocate him in only a few seconds. And perhaps he _should_ just kill this man now.

Why not? He owes him nothing, and he knows that if Stark were here now, he'd be dead anyway. All he knows is that this man is a friend of Starks, that he has searched for him for all this time, is willing to risk a lot to sneak Loki out for the information that he possesses, keeping him alive when he so clearly wants him dead, and -

 _Damn_ Stark.

He doesn't really know just _when_ he releases the man but he actually truly _hates_ himself for doing it, clenching that same hand into a fist now that it doesn't grip a throat anymore. "Do _not_ touch me again." He orders instead, his voice dark in a way that it hasn't been recently, and he sighs, aware of why and wondering what else he has unknowingly changed about himself.

The man rubs at his neck, swallowing and glaring at the same time, "Gladly." There are voices by the door then and he darts his eyes toward it for just a second until they pass, "Listen. If we're going to get out of here without getting arrested, you're gonna have to do as I say. I gather you're not used to that, but - "

"Save your talk, I understand." Loki snaps, "But if we _are_ to get out of here, then should we not move _now?"_

More voices arrive, and the man grabs a bag that he'd brought in with him and slings it over his shoulders, "Fair point."

.

* * *

.

They leave without incident, surprisingly, and the soldier leads him down the street to a cabin of sorts, just a little way off, where he opens the door for him to pass by inside before him. The door is then shut immediately afterward, locked and sealed as the lights flicker on above them both. It's small inside, damp with an old stench to it, but better than it looks from the outside anyhow. Loki makes himself comfortable as arrogantly as he can, slumping down onto a seat and waiting for the reason over why he's here to be revealed to him.

"So." The soldier snaps, predictably, turning around to face him before slapping a picture down onto a table between them; the same picture he had shown him before. " _Explain._ "

"No." Loki sighs, ignoring the spasm of anger that jumps through the man's face, " _You_ explain first." And then, when he assumes that he'll be punched again, he tenses and elaborates, "I found Stark unaware, naked, and _used_ in some _brothel_ here. Certain that no one will be looking for him. Months he's been taken from you all, why _has_ it taken so long for you to find him?"

He's stared down but the flinch from his words tells more than that does - _he always has known just what buttons to_ push _-_ before the soldier's hand slides off of the picture to hang by his side, "Why'd you care?"

"Why not?" The man frowns at him, "What do you know about me, mortal?"

"Enough to know you're a heartless murdering bastard, who likes to take over the world?" And they left out his immensely good looks and _power?_ Typical. "And my name's Rhodes. Not _mortal_."

"Fascinating. Now answer my question, _Rhodes_."

"Why should I? I got no reason to trust you. I just need you to try and find Tony and then - "

"Not answering is always more of a tell than answering at all. So it is true then. No one but you has been searching for him all this time."

"Wha - that's only 'cause they thought he was _dead_!" Regretting his outburst and noticing Loki's smirk, he backtracks immediately, "Man, shut the hell up, you have no _idea_ what we all went thro - "

"Oh but I _do_ know what _Stark_ went through. I've even seen some of it myself, through his mind. I felt his fear and his pain and I _saw_ some of what they did to him. For days now, I have dealt with his panicking and have even protected him. So please. Finish your pathetic excuse, I've needed to _kill_ something for a while now."

Rhodes stares at him, and he must not have heard about Loki's infamous nature to lie, because he very obviously believes his words to be true. And the fact that some of it actually _is_ must help as well, but Loki refuses to think about that himself. But maybe he should? Maybe he _shouldn't_ worry so much about this intense _anger_ that he seems to feel right now. Maybe caring for just one mortal isn't so bad. Not really.

Just one.

_Please. I can't go back there, I can't -  
_

He shuts his eyes for a moment, running his hand down his face, "Well?"

"Well, _what_? I don't want you to 'kill' me if I say something wrong."

Loki leans forward, flicking his hand until a chair knocks Rhodes back to sit on it, forcing him down, "Perhaps we should start somewhere stable, first?" He's stared at in shock, a natural reaction to his magic so he ignores it, "Do you know what those numbers mean, or not?"

There's a pause where they both almost analyze each other, but evidently Rhodes realizes that that won't exactly get him anywhere with regards to trust, so he answers with a sigh, "It's classified, apparently, but SHIELD has them on record. Wherever you heard them from, it's something big."

_Please! I won't tell anyone, I won't - !_

"I've gathered." Letting out a breath, he digs his fingers into his arm, prodding at whatever device there now is inside him, "To track my movements?" He asks.

"Mostly. Tony made 'em, by the way, same as your handcuffs back in the med-room. So don't bother using it to remove - " Loki's magic burns through the device immediately, and he pokes it out of his arm with a hiss, dropping it to the floor before crushing it beneath his boot. "O - kay. So they need a bit more work then. Fine."

Rubbing over the new wound that he has just given himself, Loki looks up at him slightly, narrowing his eyes, "Take me back to where you found me."

"No. It's covered with officials and - "

"Does everyone on Midgard not possess much in the way of _strategic_ knowledge? You must have ways to waver authority, mustn't you?" Rhodes looks at him, frowning.

"How'd you know so much about how we work? I heard you and Thor aren't good with Earth stuff." _You and Thor_. As though they are one and the same. He resists the urge to bite a comment out at that, holding it back only by clenching his jaw and shutting his eyes for a little while.

"I learnt." Is his simple answer, and thankfully, they leave it as that as he really has no desire to talk about himself right now. With his eyes shut now, however, memories typically assault his mind, and he recalls the vow that he had given himself - just before he had fallen into darkness during the fire.

That he will find Stark.

He will.

One mortal is enough to care over, he can accept that, and of all of them Stark is not even the worst. And anyhow, he _vowed_. Whatever any think of him, a vow is not something that he takes lightly. It was usually what it took for Thor or Odin to finally believe him after any incidents he may or may not have been a part of, and is usually why it's so rare for him to create one. For he knows that he can never break it and that is something he finds far too risky to have for a liar.

But in the midst of all that confusion, of all that pain, he _had_ vowed. And he had _meant_ it.

"Now take me back to where you found me. I've need of your authority to gain me access."

" ... what're you expecting to find?"

"Clues." He answers honestly, "So to speak."

.

* * *

.

 

There is nothing left of the whorehouse now. Nothing at all.

At Loki's hands, there had at least been charred wood, and half of the house's rooms still intact, but now there are only splinters and fragments lying around. Instead of slowly walking through the wreckage of the explosions, though, Loki immediately wanders to where the second blast had been, peeking through a hole in a brick wall to find the box that had rigged it to explode. It's completely destroyed, bare of any names or inscriptions that can lead to anything useful.

"That the bomb?" Rhodes asks him, coming over quickly as though convincing himself to constantly keep an eye on the mass-murder, " _That's_ what you were looking for? What, you think something might be _on_ it to lead to the bombers?"

"No." Loki murmurs vaguely, running his hands over it until he finds what he's looking for, "I'm trying to see who _made_ it." Rhodes leans in closer when the box opens at a catch, and Loki hovers a finger over the open wires, wincing at the heat still coming off of it but finding what he needs anyway. Once he lifts his finger again, an imprint of someone else's fingerprints are etched over it's tip.

"Huh." Rhodes swallows his awe down when Loki glances at him, and rubs at his jaw thoughtfully, "I, uh. Haven't got a lab to scan that with, though."

"No need." Loki tells him, grabbing his shoulder in a bruisingly-tight grip - because, why not? - forcing his magic through them both whilst focusing heavily on the prints he has from the box. After a moment, they appear at the last place that this man had been in before.

"Jesus - " Rhodes shoves himself back when they land, panting with a hand to his chest where the compressions of their teleport had probably squeezed. Loki doesn't apologize and only pushes past to see where they are. Nothing out the window tells him much of their location, but he _can_ see that they are in a quarry of some sort. Which does make sense, he supposes, if these men had practiced their blasts before using them to take Stark back.

They've landed in a small room, white-walled with scattered tools lying over a table; overseeing the rocks of the quarry. Nothing in here tells him anything about where or _why_ they took Stark.

Wonderful.

Slamming his hand down onto the table he glares out the window, fuming in a way that usually helps him think. Rhodes moves past him slowly, looking in the drawers and cupboards as though there would be anything left here to tell him something as well; clearing having guessed why they are here.

"If Tony were here, he'd find something everyone else had overlooked and gloat about finding it first." He mutters to himself, bitterly, slamming shut everything he finds when it's empty. "I mean, there has to be _something_. Thought you'd be useful - "

"Being useful would have been _killing_ Stark when he'd asked." Loki snaps at him, more to himself than anything but Rhodes whirls around, his face dark in an anger that is probably deeper than Loki's right now. But it is true. Stark had pleaded to not return to those men. Loki should have killed him when he'd had the chance.

"What?"

"You heard."

"Yeah." Rhodes breathes, "I did. And if I'd _found_ you with Tony and he'd been _dead?_ You _would_ have been left in that room to rot." Is that really the best he can come up with?

"Stark asked to die." Loki informs him, clenching his hands tight over the edge of the table and breathing loudly through his nose, "Killing him would have been mercy." It was probably the bluntness of his tone, or perhaps even the nonchalant way that he broaches the subject, but Rhodes visibly snaps before him.

"And what the hell do _you_ know about _mercy_ _?"_ He demands, approaching him now, "You almost _destroyed_ half of New York, we all saw the _damage_! Nearly got Tony killed, and you're thinking about killing him _now_. You don't know _shit_ about mercy, you - !" Loki starts toward him and he immediately slides out a gun from his belt and holds it up, ready to fire.

Well. Looking down the nozzle at him, aware that it could actually kill him right now, Loki slowly steps back - also aware of what _he_ can do to this man in turn.

They're wasting time.

"He. _Asked._ Me" Loki repeats softly, venomously, "Is that so hard to imagine? Hm? After you all _abandoned_ him," Rhodes grips the gun tighter, glaring at him, "He had nothing but pain. So he asked to die."

In the face of death, _always_ taunt your attacker. It makes dying more of a show.

Rhodes is breathing heavily now, blinking several times as though trying to stave off his own guilt and grief over Stark's predicament. Loki takes a step forward again, ready to grab the gun and force him down, when it _shoots._

He freezes, pausing to look down, surprised that nothing actually happened when he realizes that the gun is aiming somewhere else instead. Just left to him now. He turns, watching as a man falls from the edge of the quarry to his death, hand to heart where Rhodes had shot him. Hm.

He turns back, an eyebrow raised, noticing that the anger has not yet left but the gun is still put away, "I need you to find Tony." Is the only explanation he gets, but Loki nods anyhow, punching him with less of his normal strength to bruise him at least.

Rhodes topples over, hitting the table hard and gazing up at him in shock, blinking and darting his head back when a hand is offered to help him stand afterward. "Then let us find him."

He takes it, letting Loki tug him to his feet, following when he heads outside to try and see where that man had come from as well now. If he had stood there to shoot them both, then there must be something out here to hide.

They only had to find _what_.

.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope some of you are still enjoying <33


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please pay heed to the warnings <33**

* * *

 

For a mortal, Rhodes is actually remarkably stealthy. Due to his training as a soldier, no doubt, which can be useful for the both of them right now.

The quarry is too large for scaling, and though teleporting to it's tip would be easier, Loki is still too weak to try it unfortunately and the last spell has already taken it's toll on him. So they climb it's edges together instead, coolly avoiding helping whenever each of them slip over it's still-wet surface - from a storm that must have only just passed them by.

"Two guards, one building. Look-out." Rhodes informs him when he returns after a brief sneak around. Loki lowers his shirt from where he had been inspecting his still-healing burns, and glances at him with one eyebrow raised, "I don't think there's anything worth here to find if it's just those two." He shrugs then, frowning, "Guess you really _did_ send us somewhere pointless."

"At least _I have_ done something." Loki counters airily, standing now to look past the wall of rock that they had hid behind before.

"Hey, I've done _plenty_. How'd you think I found _you_?" He's ignored entirely, however, narrowing his eyes as he finds the guards that Rhodes had mentioned, watching as they converse with each other, relaxed and hardly alert at all. They must not have heard the death of their colleague before, then.

Good.

Rhodes comes up behind him, looking up at the guards as well, and he must clearly see something on his face as he looks, because without even a sigh, he half asks, half demands: "Don't kill any of them, okay? I know that's apparently a thing for you."

A _thing_ _?_ "And why not? Do not tell me _you_ don't wish them dead."

"They're just guards." Rhodes protests, putting a hand over Loki's arm to stop him from walking away before he's finished, "I want the men in _charge_ dead, not just some soldiers doing their duty." Well at least he wishes _someone_ dead. But still -

Loki yanks his arm out of his grip, shoving Rhodes back only to show how easily he can, but it still doesn't stop him from speaking, "Look, there might be a way around back anyway. It's just your regular bunker, we won't even have to deal with the guards."

Perhaps. But they will run the risk of them finding them, and taking them by surprise. So no. Confronting them will be easier.

Loki stands without so much as a warning, aware that now that he _has_ , the guards will easily see him. Which, does make things much easier, and also makes him target.

As soon as he does, he's immediately shot at. The bullets are dodged, though, rotating toward him with the same precision as the shooters had had before, when he had been caught bringing food back to the house. So _this_ is who they were a part of, then.

Maybe he is close to finding answers. Closer than he'd thought before, anyway. He quickly bends backward at several other shots to let any of the other bullets merely fly just over his head, cracking a bone in his back as he does  wincing when he remembers that he's still rather wounded. Damn.

Rhodes ducks as they all ricochet, taking his own gun out as well to defend himself, but he stays where he is, glaring up at Loki even as he turns to walk away. Loki dodges more of the bullets again, skidding to the right as he climbs over the remaining rock between them and the bunker, drawing on what magic he still has right now to billow a shield around him as he does, and once he finally reaches the guards they're clearly panicking; trying to contact someone for "back-up." when they realise that they cannot defeat him with only guns.

Shoving one of them aside when he lunges, Loki cracks a hand to the back of his head and throws him into the wall. He'll live, but - well. Once he wakes, he'll probably wish he hadn't. The other only takes one look at his friend, the gun in his hand shaking now, before sliding a single, subtle  foot back, getting ready to run before Loki can -

A shot cracks into the sudden silence, and he goes down, a hand to his knee, snapping his head up to see Rhodes coming over to meet them now. Loki presses his foot into the wound, viciously enjoying the way that it makes him _scream_ , " _Don't_ \- !"

Rhodes takes a faulty step forward, as though he's tempted to stop him but _knows_ he can't. He also freezes at whatever dark look must show on Loki's face, as well, and so he takes that opportunity to lean down even closer, smiling as the man struggles beneath his boot, "Why not?"

"Please, I was just - " He takes in breath after laboured breath, as red in the face as the blood seeping out of his leg, "I'm only a look-out, I swear! I don't - I don't do anything here, I haven't done anything wrong." He's telling the truth. Obviously so, but still. Now that he's here, he cannot just let him live. Loki lifts his face with a hand, allowing the man just one more breath before he -

Someone slams into his side, causing him to skitter sideways and almost slide back down the rocks that he'd just climbed before. Rhodes strikes his gun down over the man's head, knocking him out easily and breathing heavily as he glowers toward Loki with disgust.

Well. "I believe I warned you what would happen if you touched me again." The man doesn't back down, however - how irritating - but he does at least tense a little too much to betray his fear.

So maybe his friends _hadn't_ excluded Loki's power before.

"Actually. You just said _not_ to." He snaps back, smiling a little sheepishly to try and defuse the tension now steaming between the two of them, but Loki steps forward anyhow, all too aware of how much Rhodes can drag him down and how much he doesn't really need him. He raises a hand, meeting the man's eyes, and wondering whether he -

A piercing _creak_ above them both horribly alerts them to the bunker's doors suddenly sliding shut. Loki jumps inside quickly before he's sliced between them, spinning around to watch as the metal seals itself together; swallowing them both in darkness.

Wonderful.

Rhodes moves behind him, patting against the wall, and eventually lights flicker on above them. He clicks shut the panel that he had found, looking down the corridor that they've now found themselves in. White, bright, and _long_. "Right. Uh. Not just a look-out, then." Loki would smirk at him for being right, but as it is, he's actually  far too curious about _where_ they are right now. "Where the hell is this place, it's huge."

"Abandoned as well." Loki murmurs, more to himself as he glances around, noticing all the dust and grime over all the walls and floor. Not long ago, but still. Abandoned. That would explain there being only the two guards outside.

"We should check it out anyway. They might have had Tony here sometime ..." He trails off when he realizes that Loki isn't even listening at all and is already walking down the corridor, trying each of the doors. They swing open to reveal the same thing, dark and empty examination tables, tools laid out on all the metal tables. Rhodes joins him, walking inside to look around it all and pressing his lips together when he sees the caked blood over a scalpel. "Could just - be a medical room?" He mutters to himself, looking around for anything else he can see or find. Loki senses the lie as usual but he keeps his words to himself, for once, turning to try another door instead.

If Rhodes sees comfort in ignoring facts, then so be it. Not long ago, he would do the same with his own predicaments.

Behind the third door, however, a body has been left over the table. He pulls at the sheet to reveal her, her forehead sliced open with a sheet of paper pinned to her thin vest; stating her "time of death". Already dead before they had left here then. But after she _had_ been killed, burying or disposing of her body had obviously not crossed any of the people's minds here.

What is this all? Mortals were supposed to be the 'peace' realm, compared to all the others, but if this is what some are capable of then -

"Oh. Jesus." Rhodes presses a hand to his mouth beside him, staring at the now-uncovered rotting corpse lying over the table, shutting the door on her quickly after reaching over for the paper. The name on the sheet must not mean anything to him, however, because he only folds it and slides it back under the door, "Fucking bastards. They just _left_ her there like that."

Loki's mind flashes over memories. Once he might have recalled his own torture at the hands of Odin, in his punishments. Now, though, all he sees is Stark's body laid out on that table instead. Lifeless, bleeding, and left to _rot_. "I do not think there is anything for us to find here. These rooms must only hold the same as each other - "

"But with resident corpses too."

"And unless we are expecting to find Stark in one then - " He pauses, blinking, and meets Rhodes eyes for just a second before the other man immediately rushes forward and tries all of the other doors in a hopeful daze, "This place has been _abandoned_." Loki reminds him.

"They still could've dumped him somewhere here. I mean, they obviously haven't heard of human rights." The doors _slam_ shut now when he only finds them as empty as each other, and he leans against the wall beside one for just a moment, taking in a calming breath. Loki stays where he is, looking back down the corridor to see if there is a way out for him, or if they're stuck inside here as well. 

"Tony!" Rhodes' voice echoes eerily, " _Tony?!_ Tone, If you can hear me, if you can _answer_ me, let me know where you are okay! _Tony_ _!_ "

He isn't here. He can't be. Loki sighs, running a hand through his hair as he stands there, before snapping his head up when he's suddenly called instead.

"Hey, uh, _Loki?_ You - come here." Rhodes beckons without even looking, unsure of his name as well, which only makes him roll his eyes with annoyance but he does still come; curiosity winning out over everything, "Look at this." The door has been swung open entirely, Rhodes' hand keeping it that way, to reveal an office of sorts - complete with a _computer_. When Loki meets him there, he switches it on hurriedly, leaving the door to shut after them. When a blue light flashes, however, he curses loudly, "Dammit. I need a fingerprint to - " He stops, turning around to look at Loki, "What the hell, I've got _you_ haven't I." Loki stops what he's doing, looking in the drawers to glare at him. He backtracks then, clearing his throat, "I mean, your magic stuff. I need you do that thing again. What you did to the bomb, before."

"This had better give us answers." Stepping forward slowly, Loki takes up the flashing device in hand, sliding his thumb over the dip until it can then come away holding the last imprint that had been left on it. He uses it a second time, and the computer whirs on completely.

"Sweet." He's smiled at, just slightly, in gratitude, before Rhodes begins clicking through the screen. Different files turn up, holding different names, but none of them show Stark's. "Come on, come on. Where _are_ you Tony?"

He tries several other buttons, scanning through it all and getting significantly more irritated when he doesn't find any results. Pointless after all, then. 

"This is taking too long." Loki tells him helpfully, sitting on the chair left beside the table, and his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, I _know_." He continues to click, glancing at Loki as though suddenly remembering _who_ he is, and projecting an overpowering sense of mistrust, "So what else would you suggest I do Genius? I don't exactly know this system so unless we have something other than his name to search, nothing else'll come up. And I already tried that."

Would Stark forgive him if he broke the neck of a friend of his? Does he even need to _care_ about that?

"Try something else."

"Like _what_ _?_ "

"Like _General Roy Cuther_." Rhodes turns to stare at him, clearly not expecting that at all, "Perhaps they sort the names through authority rather than victim. Would make it harder to _find_ their captives, then, would it not?"

"Maybe." He gives, "But why _Cuther?_ I mean he's never liked Tony after the military deals but how would you know to suspe - "

If he has come _this_ far, how could he not have found that connection yet? "Stark told me that Cuther was the first instigator in this. Luring him somewhere alone only to capture him."

"He _told_ you that." Loki doesn't respond to the disbelief in the tone, making Rhodes frown instead, " _Why_?"

Reaching over, Loki types in the name himself, scanning over the letters to try and see which one of them Rhodes had tapped before to allow him to actually cause the computer to search. "As his saviour, he seemed to trust me."

There's a snort. "Right. Let's hope that wasn't a _mistake_." Loki only smiles dryly, his fingers twitching when Rhodes finds the button before he does and taps it. Immediately, each of the different colours over the screen change entirely as others slide open instead; numerous miniature folders flickering across it, all piling together in some form of order.

Almost a _hundred_ results.

"Wow." The mouse moves across the screen as Rhodes moves over each one, trying to see if there could be an easier way to find the information they need. "Okay we got results, but. There's so many of them, how the _hell_ has he been so involved? Does the army even _know_ about this, they - _God_."

Loki sighs, continuing to look in the drawers but they all seem to be empty, save scraps of paper and a broken watch. He turns his head toward the door at a creak, then, noticing that Rhodes tenses as well, sliding a finger over his gun as a precaution but nothing else happens for a while. The wind, then? No. Probably not.

But he can't worry about it now.

"Try 6-5-8-0." Drawing his attention back to the screen, Rhodes doesn't question - _finally_ \- and just types out the numbers, pausing for a moment to -

"Six, five ... ?"

"Eight. _Zero_. Not a hard number to recall." He's ignored and the numbers are typed into the screen, gaps left between each of them. Again. Numerous folders fly up, too many of them. Loki darts his eyes over the screen, leaning closer, "Stop it."

"You can't. It'll only stop when the search's done. There's too many files, we need something more _specific_."

"Then put the two together."

Rhodes is already typing, "Way ahead of you." The screen erases the numbers as he types, but he fills the gap again anyway, with: "Cuther, Roy. 6-5-8-0." This time. Only 5 other folders fly across the screen. " _Yes_." Loki slides his chair closer, his eyes narrowed at the screen.

Finally. Something they can do faster.

The first of them is clicked, and different squares flicker onto the screen, triangles rotating within them. Rhodes clicks the mouse twice, and the screen suddenly goes dark. His voice is dramatically subdued when he next speaks. "Video files."

_You had no right to do that._

Loki chews on the inside of his cheeks, thoughtfully, "Stark will hate us looking." He doesn't even realise that he's spoken until Rhodes whips his head around to blink at him. There's a pause between them, then, as the screen remains dark; waiting for the final tap.

"Yeah." Rhodes murmurs, turning back with a dark scowl, "I know." Tapping the screen, the screen shimmers, "But we got no choice."  Once it's finished, the screen clears, wobbling as the camera used to film it all is adjusted. There's a fuzz of noise, a screech of something, before it moves onto a different room. The camera now fixed in place.

An examination room fills the screen, just like those that they had just walked past before.

.

* * *

 

_He's been pulled out of that room again. More testing. Testing he can do, testing doesn't hurt._

_Tony's eyes remain shut as he lies over the table, his arms and legs strapped down as usual. He'd open them, to see what was going on, but after yesterday's 'punishment' he's far too exhausted to do anything but let them prod and pick at his skin, testing his endurance of all the torture._

_"Session 42." The_ _Doctor calls into the silence. They're filming today then. "Subject is sedated and tame. Blood works have been completed showing fast acceptance of the toxin. More experiments are needed to be sure, however." Tony hisses when a knife slices into his arm, turning his face away with effort, but the breathing tube blocks his way. "Clotting in muscle mass has completely stopped now. Another positive sign." His legs are parted, the bruising there shown for the camera, "_ Sexual _abuse of subject has proven, as a surprise, to be useful in quickening the toxin's spread, also, wounding the subject enough_ _that it's no choice but to work."_

 _"Which is_ totally _why we do it." Another voice jeers to his left. Tony shivers from the cold, his eyes twitching but he can't quite open them still. Sedated had they said? Maybe - that's why._

_"Agent Surmen here is present for the examination," The Doctor tells the camera, "Although he has no PHD to speak of."_

_"Fuck you Jacobs." There's a ripple of laughter all around, making it clear that it's not only Surmen and Jacobs in the room. It doesn't matter anyway. After everything, too many people have seen him in this now, he can't care enough to be humiliated anymore._

_"How'd the subject doing with tempers?"_

_"Stark's been tame ever since we started using the taser. He knows what'll happen if he acts out again." A hand slaps at his cheek and he moans, "Don't you_ subject?"

_"If Agent Surmen cannot be professional, Dr Jacobs will have to ask him to leave."_

_"Nah, I'll be good."_

_._

* * *

 

 

_"Session 52. Subject is now ready for testing." Tony blinks at the lights shining far too brightly into his eyes. He squints when he sees Cuther standing to his left, arms folded behind his back as though he's only a new gun for him to approve. The metaphor's not entirely wrong._

_"Tell me about him, Doctor." Tony winces as a prod turns his head to one side. "Was my investment wasted?"_

_"If you mean wasted as_ complete success _?_ _Yes. The, um,_ _modified pace-maker thing seems to be just the thing we really needed, and the bonus that it's_ Stark _is what's made all this so easy." Pacemaker. His reactor. For some reason, after all they've done to him, the fact that they've been using it only makes him feel more violated than now, "Some of the agents were a little wary about this all recently, especially as Subject 5 died last week on the table, but Tony Stark's had this coming for - "_

_"Spare me the hate-talk. Just tell me. How much more time is needed?"_

_"Well the training we've put him through is mostly a success. He doesn't fight back as often anymore, which means whatever the agents have been trying seems to work."_

_"You mean the rape."_

_Jacobs backtracks, glancing down in shock, "I - " He clears his throat, "Well, they don't_ really. _I mean. I wouldn't exactly_ call _it rape, it's just -"_

 _"Don't presume I'm stupid, Jacobs. I'm well aware of the affects of that sort of trauma." Tony's head is turned back around again, the prod now gone. "And Stark's the perfect specimen of behaviour like that." He shuts his eyes again, rotating_ _his wrists_ _in their straps. "So he no longer fights back, then. How long until he can be used in combat?"_

_"I ... couldn't say, sir." Tony's hand is lifted, blood pricked on a needle. He flinches, fluttering his eyes open to stare at the ceiling. He doesn't have a tube anymore, nor a gag. He could speak, if he wanted to. He could._

_Do it. Go on._ Say _something._

_"I might have a clearer idea after the tests, however." Jacobs leans closer now, reaching to take his regular saliva swab. Tony opens his mouth dutifully, gagging when it scrapes down the back of his throat. The watering in his eyes is ignored._

__His mouth hurts, his throat aching, but despite it all as soon as the swab leaves he actually tries to speak. He wants to know if he can remember__ how _ _._ "N - _

_None of them hear him._

_"How is he with combat, anyhow?"_

_"He's been better. The toxin moves fast, the specimen you brought us before provided the perfect testing ground for it to make it right, and his body is one of the only ones that's actually accepted it well. He thinks faster than most humans anyway, but after this, he'll not have anything specifically normal at all. Your property, sir."_

_"And once you have finished training, he will be easily controlled?"_

_Jacobs nods, smiling, "He'll be as tame as a riding horse. You tell him what to do, and it's done. Perfect sleeper agent, and - "  
_

_Tony's lips stick together but he still manages to part them, his voice raspy and weak as he tries again, "N - nay...mm."_

_Cuther pauses, they both do, looking down at him. Tony stares at Jacobs, his eyes dull, "Did he just_ speak? _"_

 _Putting all of his samples away, Jacobs puts a hand to Tony's throat, "He shouldn't have. The acid burnt his throat before, there's no way he could without agony." It is. Agony. It_ hurts.

_But he has to try._

_"Nnnayemzz." It's nothing more than a whisper but it still stops them both dead. He's not supposed to speak. Jacobs blinks, looking almost ashamed now as though Tony's doing him a huge wrong by messing up, "I ... I N-_ know. _"_

_"Shut him up."_

_"Yes sir." Jacobs leans even closer, now, his ear right by Tony's shaking lips, to listen to what he has to say. Probably thinking that once he has, Tony'll stop, "Know what, Stark?"_

_Tilting his head above the table makes him feel like an entire_ spear _had just drove itself through his skull, but he keeps it up, staring him in the eye, "I ..._ kn-know _... your -_ naaym-ss _."_

 _Jacobs doesn't move from where he is but he glances up at Cuther slightly, his eyes wide when he_ knows _that the General understands completely. That he'd heard.  
_

_"Sedate him."_

_"Sir." Before he can move away however, ignoring all of the pain it gives him Tony opens his mouth further, jerking his head forward faster than he thought he could before_ sinking _his teeth into Jacobs' neck; biting down hard. The man screams, trying to push him away and Tony's hands shake in their straps as he struggles to hold on, blood dripping into his mouth as something_ rips _but he doesn't care, he doesn't_ care _._

 _Maybe_ this _will finally be enough._

_Maybe they'll finally kill him after this._

_Cuther slams his fist into his head, and Jacobs falls against the trays of tools, sending them clattering to the ground. He holds his bleeding neck, panting and staring at Tony in shock. "Take him back to the rooms, now!_ Clearly _he's in need of a lot more improvement than you thought." Jacobs only nods, still slightly in shock, before fumbling with the needle to sedate Tony all over again. "Cut his food for the week too. And let the Agents have free reign. I want him done in time for the presentation, at_ least _."_

_No. He's going back to the room. He's -_

_No. No No **No**. Why can't they just_ **kill him**?!

.

* * *

 

_The room's utterly pitch black. Jacobs is nowhere to be seen. Why isn't he here? Isn't there some testing to do?_

_He doesn't know why he's here. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Maybe he's here for another opening. Maybe they're selling his body again. But no one's_ said _anything, he doesn't know what he's here for. Why isn't anyone_ here?

Has _he been sold again? God, please. He can't handle another one like last time. He'd rather the Agents, he'd rather_ anyone _but whoever they'd given him to last time. His arms still ache, his whole body only a bruise._

 _Why is he_ alone _in here?_

_A door opens to the left, and he snaps his head toward it immediately, breathing in a sigh of relief. He's not being left in the dark again. Thank God. Out of everything, strangely enough, it's the one thing he hates most._

_It terrifies him._

_"You alright in here, Stark? Not too cold or anything?" He's freezing. But he's not meant to answer. Marcus walks toward him, smiling. Out of each of the agents, he's one of the only ones that Tony_ knows  _gets a kick out of all of this. Him being here can't be good. "Heard you got into a bit of a punch-up yesterday. At the presentation. Tried to escape again. Made us all a bit of an embarrassment in front of the Major."_

_So it that it then? Is this his execution now?_

_Marcus lifts the taser up in his gaze, "Pl - " Jamming it into Tony's side before he can even blink. He screams into the silence, aware now that there's no one else here anymore. Anything could happen to him alone here. Not that there's much else_ to _happen anyway. What more could he try on him that's new?_

_He feels dead. Why can't he be yet?_

_Before he can take in a breath, the taser jams into him again, over his stomach this time. He jolts over the table, gritting his teeth against the tremors."You never fucking listen do you, Stark. How many attempts it is going to take?"_

_Until he gets out. Or until they kill him for it._

_There's no in-between._

_"Maybe you need a reminder of your place here." Tony shuts his eyes, a tear sliding out of it to pool behind his ear anyway, "'Cause I think you've forgotten." Pacing around to the tools, Marcus lifts the prod, rolling it between finger and thumb. "Luckily for you. I can be forgiving." Tony shakes in his binds, staring up at the ceiling when he finally opens his eyes again. A lighter snaps beside him, fire flickering over the edge of the prod, turning it a glowing red. "Hold still now. Wouldn't want you to get hurt."_

_His ear is pinched and he stays still, as ordered, gritting his teeth and ignoring the tears falling with the anticipation of the pain he's about to get. The prod sizzles as it touches the edge of his skin and it_ burns. _It burns so awfully and it's not even done yet. By the time it even gets a_ quarter _of the way through, he's gagged when his screams get too loud for Marcus to listen to._

_._

* * *

 

 

 _The camera rolls in his view, Liyzet holding it to get a good look at his face. "Guess this is goodbye Stark. Smile for the camera." His cheeks throb. He knows he looks a mess, curled up on the floor of the_ room _,_ _shaking so much his teeth chatter._

_"Leave him Liyzet. He's too out of it to piss off."_

_"If he's tired already, maybe it's a good thing he messed up the presentation. Means we know he's still weak. Major could still give us that bonus."_

_"Or - " Tony's lips spasm as he tries to speak, but it's been a long time since they gave him acid, "M -_ may _\- be. The - may-jor kn-knew you were all fuck -fuck ups any-w-way." Marcus is knelt beside him, and his smile grows at that. They move him around to give the camera a better view._

_"What'd you say boys? One more time for the movie?" He's kicked over, rolled onto his back._

_"_ No _\- n - !" Marcus shoves his face into the dark, pulling at his belt.  
_

 _"We'll see if you're laughing after tomorrow, Stark." Tony stares at the ground before him, the camera filming his face, "Hope you have some_ nice _, clean fun in the brothel. I'm sure some of our boys'll take_ good _care of you." Tony cries out when he leans forward over his back, crushing him under his weight, "Cuther cut you off, in case you don't understand. Doesn't want to waste anymore time on you. And seeing as you_ know _so much ... well. What better way to die than being fucked, huh?"_ _Holding Tony's legs tighter, he lifts him by the hair to look into the camera, "Take a good loo - "_

_....._

"Turn it off."

Rhodes flicks the screen blank before he's even finished speaking, but the imprint of what they've just seen still sticks in his mind. His hands have clenched over the table, subconsciously, and it splinters when he releases it finally; swallowing to try and find the right words to say, "I - well, at least that gives us a - " Rhodes suddenly spins around, hunching over the desk and hacking, obviously wanting to vomit but with nothing but bile coming up through his throat, " - a start."

Once he's done, Rhodes only sits back, staring at the now blank screen. Silence envelops them both, and for a long while, neither of them know what to say. 6-5-8-0. Clever of Stark to shout it out at the last second. He would likely have been punished for it, however. As brutally as was illustrated in the video.

The _state_ of him, it was revolting. How he had found him in the brothel had seemed to be awful then, yes, but compared to _this?_ He takes in a deep, long breath, shutting his eyes slowly.

 _I am looking Marcus_.

Hm. Setting little clues all of the time for him. Not as broken as he'd thought then, not as unfocused. He would have smiled a little were he not so subdued at the moment.

They _had_ sent Stark to die in the brothel. Just as he'd thought before, with the injection's purpose to have been death. But now, taking him back as they had, what was to stop them from killing him properly _now?_

After watching those videos, he's more certain than ever that if they do find him, they will find him dead. The thought hurts, miraculously, and he takes a moment to think about that feeling. Oddly allured by it. It's been a while, after all, since he's felt that way. That seeping sense of loss.

But he still has his vow. So dead or not, he will fulfil it.

He will find Stark. And if he is dead, any who had a hand in it, won't even see him coming.

 

.

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Torture. Violence.**

* * *

 

Rhodes leaves without a word, walking down the corridor alone after slamming the door shut after him. Obviously needing a moment.

Loki stays, still sitting there. He wonders what that might be like. What it's like to have cared as much for someone as Rhodes so clearly does, to love them, to have such fond memories together, and then to see them _stripped_ away. Used, abused, presented like nothing more than an object.

He wonders if it _hurts_. And how much it would, if it does.

He wonders if it's how his mother feels, now, about him. Possibly. Maybe? He doesn't know.

Looking into himself, he even searches for that same feeling himself, that same sense of pain over Stark's suffering. But there's nothing. All he seems to feel is _anger_. An anger so great that it's almost numb compared to anything else.

What should he feel know? Satisfaction at seeing an enemy brought so low? He hasn't felt that in awhile, and he's had Stark in his company before. Anger seems to be the only thing fitting. And something else. Something hollow.

The screen is still blank, but he continues to stare at it, deaf to the world as he struggles to mull over what he has just seen. _Would_ they have killed Stark? After all that has been done to him, it could even be the relief that the man so desperately wants. Mercy even.

So no. Perhaps they wouldn't have.

Rhodes returns after a long while, his voice slightly raw when he finally speaks, "We should get out of here." Loki doesn't answer him. He isn't even sure _what_ to say, which is unlike him. Has he _ever_ felt this way before? Everything he's done, the lives he's taken, the monster he sees himself as. No. He hasn't. He's always been the perpetrator himself, the being that drove these feelings into _others_. He isn't the -

"Uh. You okay?" Loki opens his mouth to - to say the first thing that may come to his head - but something suddenly seems ... off.

"Stop talking." He then orders instead. 

"Look, I get that you're -"

He turns to face him, tilting his head up, "Stop. _Talking_." His tone must register because Rhodes' gun slips out again. He starts to listen himself, wondering what it could be that Loki has heard, alert all over again. 

He rolls his hands into fists when the buzzing starts to grow louder, now surrounding them both. Loki makes to stand, frowning, but before he can even part his lips to speak, anything and everything made from glass is suddenly shattered from the increased intensity of the sound; so agonisingly loud that Loki slams his hands over his ears. "Ah - "

Rhodes seems entirely unaffected, staring at him in shock and aiming his gun around as though thinking that Loki has been attacked instead. "What is it? What's wrong with you?" Loki shouts when the sound then becomes too piercing, drowning almost anything else out, and he clutches at his head, stumbling backward. Rhodes steps toward him, raising his gun when he must realise what's happening. He then looks about, aims, closes an eye, and shoots.

The sound disappears immediately and Loki staggers back against the table, panting and wiping the blood on his hands, from his ears. "Jesus. What _frequency_ do you hear on?"

"More importantly." Loki rasps, straightening with a wince, "How do _they_ know which I do?" Rhodes frowns, darting his eyes over him. 

"Well, let's just say." A gun clicks with an echo, the door behind them swings open, and the man that Stark had called Marcus steps inside; five others right behind him. "We did our research."

.

* * *

* * *

**Stark Industries, New York branch.  
**

* * *

* * *

 .

Pepper sighs, rubbing a finger across her forehead as she tries to give her attention to Mr Harris' presentation, aware of just how much of it requires Stark Industries to have a Weapons Manufacturing Division, and pretty much sick of everyone's attempt to get around it now that Tony's dead.

The least they could do is respect one of his last major decisions to the company, but unfortunately, most of their partners are apparently vultures when it comes to money and ignore anything that may or may not be insensitive or cruel. Or maybe she's just being over-dramatic about it all. It _has_ been months since they had called a stop to the search and had named Tony dead, after all. And it's not like a lot of people in the company are singing his praises after the debt that he'd left them in with the repairs to New York, especially after the disaster over the bridge. 

Rhodey is still out there somewhere though, lying about how he's not still looking although most of them know that he is anyway. He'd said that unless he sees a body, he won't accept it. But Pepper isn't like that, she can't hold on for so long knowing that it'll all only be sucked out of her. Waiting and wishing is so much worse than knowing and mourning. Especially seeing as she isn't the only one either. Half the country had held a mourning day for the famous Tony Stark, and at least once a week Natasha visited her and they talked about anything, everything. Just things to distract themselves.

Natasha is used to losing people, she knows, but it's all so different when it comes to Tony. He'd almost been like their _light_ , their bubbly, energetic, _genius_ who had always seemed to know how to make things better. Even though he was probably the one that had made them worse in the first place.

But with him gone now.

With him gone it's too dark, too empty. She just wishes that she could have -

"Miss Potts?" Harris' voice shatters her thoughts and she lifts her head, "Are you still with us?"

She takes a breath, readying herself to apologize for drifting and for the half pitying, half annoyed looks that that'll get, before suddenly changing her mind last minute. "No. I'm not, actually, Mr Harris." The board stirs but she ignores it. "I believe you already know my answer to your request, so this is actually a waste of time for everyone present here."

"Well, I - "

"And if I get a _single_ other request from you about anything to do with weaponry, I won't be as lenient next time." Harris blinks, glancing at the rest of the board for help, but no one says anything. One even looks at Pepper appraisingly, as though he's glad she's finally showing some balls, but she doesn't really have time to think on that before her phone buzzes over the table.

She sighs, "One moment." and lifts it up, swiping it on, and glancing down the message quickly, wondering briefly if it's from Natasha about their -

 

**_Rhodey, J:_ **

**_12:34. Tony's alive._ **

 

Followed by a:

 

 _ **Rhodey, J:**_

_**12:35. Don't track me.** _

 

Her finger hovers over the screen as she stares at the word 'alive'. Alive. _Alive._ Oh.

The ground falls out from under her. 

"Miss Potts?"

She doesn't _-_ _can'_ t move. She doesn't do much of anything but sit there, and really, she isn't even sure she's still _breathing_. "Miss ... Miss _Potts_?" Harris moves toward her in concern now, "Are you alright?" Others stand now, crowding her, waving a hand in front of her face but she doesn't say anything at all to answer their questions. At least. Not until one of them mentions Happy. 

" _Get_ Happy." She orders, standing just a little wobbly but straightening her skirt anyway and clearing her throat, aware of how pale she must look. " _Now_. I need to get to the Avengers Tower _immediately_."

.

* * *

* * *

**Nevada; a SHIELD built residence for covert-ops.  
**

* * *

* * *

.

Clint sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the laptop that he's been using to scan for any activity; Fury had said that they'd received a bit of intel involving this area and that he was here to keep an eye. He doesn't even look away when he speaks but he's clearly agitated. "Thor, come _on_ buddy, listen to me for a bit would you? It's bad enough that you came here like this, during a _covert op_ , but if I tell Fury that your brother's on Earth and it turns out to _not_ be true, he'll _hang_ my ass."

"But it _is_ true. And I had to come. Neither of our comrades were available to speak with."

Clint snorts, gesturing. "Yeah well, _neither_ am I."

" _You_ were easier to find."

"Oh how flattering, thanks. Good to know my stealth is as good as always." Thor smiles at him, "But look. If your brother came to Earth, wouldn't we have _known_ about it by now? I mean, he's not exactly the type to live and let die. He'd've have wanted revenge."

"He would have been weak after his punishment. Revenge would have been far from his mind." Clint raises an eyebrow at him, keeping one eye on the screen. 

"Yeah but why would he come _here_? He hates Earth."

"It is the only realm that he would have been safe in, with how he is now. Heimdall informed me of his presence here only a mere few days ago."

Clint makes a face, all too aware of who Heimdall is now that Thor's explained it so many times, "And _why_ exactly did it take him that long to tell, if Loki's been supposedly gone for years?"

Thor clenches a hand over the newspaper Clint had given him before, crinkling it between his fingers, "I do not know. My father is - _distant_ over this issue. He refuses to answer my questions."

Great. "This isn't another test of _morality_ or anything is it?"

"Oh," Thor shakes his head, his eyes lowered now, "I truly doubt that."

Finally not giving Loki the benefit of doubt, huh? "And why not?"

The newspaper is creased entirely now, crumpled in his hands. "For I know now that Loki _has_ none."

.

* * *

* * *

  **Egypt.**

* * *

* * *

.

Loki slams into the wall, his hands clutching at his head as more of the speakers around begin to produce that  _noise_. He slides down the plaster, gritting his teeth and squinting his eyes, as he almost grows dizzy with the pain that it's giving him.

Rhodes is dragged off to one side before he can even react to Loki's predicament, his gun kicked away and taken but it doesn't even stop his fight at all. Now in combat with another, he wrestles and punches, roaring out his anger when he recognises more and more of them from the video. There are only a few unknown, but all have obviously had a part in this.

Rhodes falls just once, bleeding from his mouth, and he must know that without Loki he will die, because even when he hasn't anything in hand, he _plunges_ a fist through a speaker, just as the rest of them begin to crowd Loki; clearly seeing him as the bigger threat now. 

He destroys another of the other speakers himself before any of them can get close enough to attack, and with the noise now gone, he easily lashes out at the nearest soldier, bringing them down with nothing but his rage.

"Put them _down_!" Marcus barks out, doing nothing himself.

Rhodes gets his gun back, using it twice to kill this time, while Loki uses whatever else he can find - pencils, the chair, the mouse and his own body, strangling one of them to death with the computers cords and stabbing two through the eyes until he stands covered in their blood and panting, facing _Marcus_ alone. The chair lies shattered at his feet, but no matter.

He'd rather use his own _hands_ for this anyway.

Marcus stares at him from where he stands, and panicked doesn't even seem to completely describe the look on the his face. Terrified seems more accurate really. Loki grins at him. Obviously he'd thought that this 'fight' might have gone on a bit longer than that, _or_ that his men might have even killed a _God_.

**_Who do they think they are?_ **

"Thought we'd fucking gotten _rid_ of you already." Marcus spits, backing away from him slowly, with his gun still held up, "You, uh, you don't look so good anyway. Did the bombs actually hit?" He swallows when he doesn't really receive a reaction at all, amateurish in his attempts to distract Loki's pursuit, "You look better than _Stark_ anyway. And that's something, right?" Loki continues to walk toward him, still smiling even as Marcus begins to grow pale - _Good._ They leave the room that way, Marcus still walking backward with his gun up but not actually taking a shot yet. "You saw the videos, th - right? We heard 'em play." He's talking faster, now, "So what'd you think? Huh? You know, uh, of our little _Home movies_." He grins as well then but the effect is wasted entirely when Loki only sees his hands trembling over the gun. "They're all probably even making _some more_ right now too."

And that's it. That is _all_ he needs to hear. 

Lunging forward, Loki wraps a hand around Marcus' throat, _shoving_ him into another of the rooms as the man gasps in his grip before -

Marcus shoots and he skids back, releasing him to let a hand clutch at his thigh instead; where he had been hit. The _little -_

With a snarl he brutally backhands the man down, kicking him in the stomach until he falls against the table with a shout. Blood seeps from his leg but he ignores it, gritting his teeth past the pain to yank the straps down over Marcus' now dazed body.

"Then _perhaps_ I should make a few of my _own_." Blinking himself aware, Marcus immediately jerks in his binds, his eyes widening when he sees Loki moving past the table to look through the tools beside it, and it only takes a _second_ for him to start begging.

"No. No, no, hey, hey! Wait a minute, okay, _wait_." Loki lifts the prod that he'd seen in the video, twisting it in his hands, "Look, I'm not the guy in _charge_ here, I'm not! Stark's just a bit of a - " He chokes like a dying animal, just as his throat closes around his words, gagging horribly when Loki draws out from himself and pours it _full_ of liquid fire, melting it from the inside until he's sure that Marcus will be entirely unable to speak.

At least, not until he _wants_ him to.

His face utterly blank now, as emotionless and clinical as he can make it, Loki inspects the prod instead, lighting it with his finger until it's searingly hot. "I wonder. Where should I place it for _you_?" Marcus shakes over the table, blood at the edge of his mouth, jerking his head back and forth despite the pain and pleading with his eyes. How _pathetic._ Loki draws the prod closer, watching as the man whimpers, "The _ear,_ maybe? Or perhaps, even your _eyes_. You won't be needing them soon, will you?" Tears fall from them now and he scoffs, all too aware of how much this man has mocked _Stark's_ tears, even after all he'd been through, and yet _this_ is all it takes to reduce the same from his attacker.

Disgusting.

"No, actually. I think I have the _perfect_ place for it." He straightens, suddenly yanking at Marcus' trousers before ripping them completely off, letting him cry out from the burns of friction that it had given him. "Just to ensure that you can _never_ use it against another again." He grips his legs tight. "I would hold my breath if I were you." The camera in the corner whirs on itself when Loki commands it, just as Marcus  _screams_ , his cries coming out so gurgled and revoltingly wet - the hiss of the prod against his skin drowned out completely. Loki keeps it there, pushing it closer and closer until he sees the man drifting from the agony; falling unconscious. " _No_." He slams a fist into his face, breaking his jaw, "You stay awake now." 

There's a shot from behind him and a cry. He wonders briefly if it's Rhodes, taken down after all his fighting, but he's far too busy to check over that right now. Far too _angry_. "What else do we have here, hm?" He clatters the tools over Marcus' shaking torso, looking to see what else he can use, "Ah yes. Your _favourite_."

The taser is held over his lips, grazing down over the wounds that Loki has given him. He _relishes_ the screams, the crying, heaving from the satisfaction it is giving him. "Don't kill him." So Rhodes _is_ alive then. He doesn't sound too disturbed over Loki's actions either. Good. He would have hated to have killed the man for interrupting, seeing as he does owe him a little now as well. And at least they agree on something.

"Oh, I _won't_." Jamming the taser down again, he practically growls, "Death is too merciful."

Coming around the glare down at him as well, Rhodes looks almost darker in his rage. "You got that right." He sounds it too, and after a pause, Loki just hands him the taser without even being asked, leaning back at watch instead.

"Leave him awake." Is the only advice he gives, "He will know where Stark is."

"You got it."

He leaves them both behind then, listening to the thud of the table as Marcus jolts over it whilst Rhodes asks over _how_ he could ever do that to another person. To ' _Tony_ '. Both soldiers, he knows. He may even be worried that others he is fond of could be a part of this. It's possible. And it could explain how betrayed and disgusted he clearly feels.

Loki's leg _throbs_ as he walks and he eventually slumps into a chair in another office-room, lifting his trouser leg to inspect the hole. It's sealing already, but will hurt for a number of days yet, and if he's hit there, he can only imagine how much it will pain him. _Damn_. He winces as he tries to stand before the door opens behind him and he whirls around to punch whoever it is entering only to pause when he sees Rhodes. "Done already?"

"I don't get as much of a kick out of it as you do." His eyes flicker down to Loki's leg. "He can't speak anyway."

"He can when I heal his throat." Sitting again, he stretches his legs out and swipes a hand past the blood to try and see it clearer. Rhodes opens a cupboard to the side, searching through it until he eventually lifts out a green-colored bag. Bandages are inside it and Loki grabs the roll, binding his leg before Rhodes can even offer to do it for him. He'd rather not. The only people who have ever bound his wounds have only ever been family or the warrior's three. And most of the time it was out of pure necessity.

Unless he counts his mother.

Rhodes sits opposite him as he works, breathing heavily and rubbing his hands over his face. "I - One of them, he - " He stops, looking at Loki for a moment, "One of them told me Tony's dead."

Loki doesn't stop. "Marcus said the opposite."

There's a sigh. Vulnerable. "So how'd we know which one's the liar?"

Loki doesn't answer, not immediately, but he does take Rhodes offered hand to help him stand on his injured leg, "We find him."

 

* * *

 

Marcus ducks when they leave the room together, and Rhodes immediately runs after him, his shoes squeaking over the floor, " _Hey!_ " A strap still dangles from his wrist as he hobbles down the corridor and he's caught easily, the punch he swings dodged while Rhodes' knee jams into his non-existent crotch. He falls screaming, shaking. Loki approaches them both slowly, watching as Rhodes backs away now, looking away in shame of his actions but still too angry to try and make amends.

"Let's see about speaking now, shall we?" Marcus glares up at him, nothing but a gargle slipping out his mouth. Loki pinches his bottom lip, using it to lift the man to his feet, and he pushes him to the wall - his magic coursing all the while, to mend his burnt throat. "Now tell me. Where is Stark?"

"You won't - " Rhodes starts forward, joining Loki, and Marcus sags backward, staring up at them both. "I can't - "

"Perhaps I should burn something _else_ off?" He weakly tries to push him away, bucking in his grasp, "Very well." Loki begins to drag him back to the room.

"No! No, wait, _fuck_ , I'll tell you, I'll fucking _tell you!"_ Loki pauses, still turned away to let him know that he can still pull him back anyway, "He's - he's in the _Lahontan Valley._ In - in Nevada. And that's the truth, I swear, it's the fucking truth."

Loki glances at Rhodes, asking him with his eyes if such a place even exists. He's nodded at. Twisting a hand, he easily breaks Marcus' wrist and lets him slump against the wall, hitting his head to knock him out completely. "I'm getting SHIELD on the line, to come here."

"What?" Loki turns to stare at him.

"It's cool. I figure you don't wanna be here when they're here, so we can leave before them."

Loki narrows his eyes at him but is actually too exhausted to argue. "Fine. Call them if you must." And because he never can resist to threaten. "But tell them of the _valley_ , and I _will_ leave you here alone."

"Fair enough."

.

* * *

* * *

**Operations room: 12.**

* * *

* * *

.

Tony lies on his back, fluids pumping into him to restore him to full health. Ready for combat.

He shakes still, can't stop it.

But as soon as the toxin finishes it's work, his eyes snap open.

And he screams.

.

 


	8. Chapter 8

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**Hello. I am sorry to give false hope of a new chapter, but this is just a warning.**

**I am working on a project that will take a lot of my time away from fic writing. I will still try to update but please don't send me messages about them if I don't soon.**

**Hopefully, if this project works out, it'll all be for my readers anyway.**

**Thank you for understanding. This will be deleted when there is a new chapter.**

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